


How You Remind Me

by eirallina



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy Blake Being an Asshole, Bellamy Blake is James Potter, Child Actors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter References, Heavy Angst, John Murphy is Sirius Black, Marauders References, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, The Author Knows Nothing About Hollywood or Acting, i mean like sloooooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirallina/pseuds/eirallina
Summary: Clarke Griffin was 9 when she went to one of the most highly anticipated auditions of the century. Two years prior, J.K. Rowling announced that a television show titled Marauders was in the works. Needless to say, Clarke knew she had to be there and once the announcement for casting auditions were publicized, she begged and begged and begged her parents to go.Who could resist the idea of being a part of Marauders’ legacy?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got 3 things to say. 
> 
> First, I will be taking a lot of liberties with J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter universe (especially the Marauders), but I do not own Harry Potter. 
> 
> Second, the same can be said about The 100. I do not own the show or the characters. 
> 
> Finally, I am so so so sorry for my deplorable grammar. 
> 
> Have fun reading~~

Clarke Griffin was 9 when she went to one of the most highly anticipated auditions of the century.

Two years prior, J.K. Rowling announced that a television show titled _Marauders_ was in the works _._ As the name suggested, the television show chronicled the lives of the quartet who played vital roles in the rise and fall of Voldemort. Needless to say, Clarke knew she had to be there and once the announcement for casting auditions were publicized, she begged and begged and _begged_ her parents to go.

Who could resist the idea of being a part of _Marauders_ ’ legacy?

When the day came, her father accompanied her and charmed everyone there. Overall, she thought she did okay. She didn’t expect anything to come of it, but she tried her best. In all honesty, she forgot about the auditions until almost a year later and she screamed her head off after she got the news. Despite having little experience and what her mother would refer to as ‘no acting talent to speak of’, Clarke had been chosen to play the main lead as Lily Evans.

She was chosen!

Her!

It was the best news of her life and she spent her days with a sense of accomplishment like no other. Ecstatic that she had scored the role, her best friend Wells threw a party to congratulate her. Granted, there were only two people in attendance—Wells and herself—but it was the best party someone has ever thrown in her honor. Who could resist popcorn, butterbeer-like ice cream, and binging all eight Harry Potter movies?

Clarke was only 10 and ¾ when she heard the word ‘nepotism’ for the first time and learned the meaning behind the word.

Her first meeting with the production team was unexpected and unpleasant, filled with heated discussions that quickly turned into hissing matches and lots of unsavory disagreements that weren’t productive at all. The more her father’s name slipped from everyone’s lips, the more the production team talked about the abilities of other girls who auditioned for the same role as hers, the more Clarke understood what was happening. She began to realize that she did not get the role because the casting agents envisioned her as the perfect Lily Evans.

No, she got the role because of her father.

To Clarke, Jake Griffin was a wonderful father who loved her very dearly and liked to spoil her with mango gelato. But to the world, he was no ordinary man. Jake Griffin has been hailed one of the best actors of the time for ten consecutive years and it was no fluke. He was just _that_ good. It stood to reason that the showrunners chose her because they thought she had the same talents. Or at the very least, she could give the show some publicity.

“ _Marauders_ hardly needs any,” she complained to her father. “It’s about _the_ Marauders, dad.”

“I’m sorry.” Her father replied, apologetic. He gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes. The sadness that exuded from him made her want to pull him into a hug, but she was still a bit mad at him so she stayed in her seat. Who told him to be so famous? “I shouldn’t have taken you. It wa—”

“It’s okay,” interrupted Clarke.

It was actually not okay, but what could a 10-year-old girl like her do?

As young as she was, Clarke definitely wasn’t sure if she wanted to do with her life. Sure, she fancied being a famous movie star. Sure, she entertained the idea of being a world-famous writer too. And of course, she would love to be a surgeon like her mother and save lives day in and day out. She wasn't sure of anything except the fact that she's undecided. Whatever it was, if she wanted to make a name for herself, Clarke knew she couldn’t start out like that.

Not with nepotism. 

In the end, after much deliberation and a dozen or two crying sessions, Clarke turned down the role that would have changed her life forever. 

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

The showrunners decide on Raven Reyes instead.

Clarke actually had the privilege of meeting Raven Reyes at the initial audition and deep down she knew the 12-year-old Latina girl would do Lily Evans justice—more so than Clarke ever would.

That didn’t dull the jealous-tinged sadness that hit her when she saw the announcement though. The casting results dominated the entertainment news cycle for several months afterwards. Noting her dour mood, her father told her to shake it off. She made a decision to step away so she had to live with it and move on. Clarke didn’t speak to her father for a month after his unsolicited advice. Considering the size of their house, it wasn’t a difficult task.

It took several months but eventually, Clarke finally accepted the fact that she couldn’t dwell on the matter any further and cut herself off from reading, watching, listening, and overall knowing anything and everything about _Marauders_. Who cared about some stupid show about stupid kids in school uniforms waving wooden sticks around anyway? Harry Potter was so 1990s.

She had other things to worry about.

Taking her mother’s criticisms to heart, Clarke started taking acting classes. She learned a few accents and annoyed her mother to no end with her newfound love for the Scottish accent. She could be the next female Doctor Who if that ever get the green light and practicing accents would help with that.

Recognizing her determination to work on acting, her father got her an agent by the name of Anya Warren. The brusque woman was brutally honest and extremely scary, but her personality definitely helped her do her job. After all, it wasn’t easy to keep Clarke’s identity a secret from everyone and to keep the attentions on her acting and her acting alone. For the next six months after she rejected the role of Lily Evans, Clarke went to hundreds of auditions for minor roles claiming no relation to Jake Griffin and started out small. A gig here, a commercial there, playing an extra walking through a crowd when needed, and playing a child who gets violently killed or something similar when hard pressed.

Proving she has what it takes to her co-workers, to the show runners who took a chance on her, to her mother—to everyone, really—was exhausting work. Sometimes, Clarke wondered if it was worth the trouble, tears, and not to mention the diet. At one point, after having a terrible day at work and at school, she wondered if she should just quit. Honestly, why was she trying so hard anyway?

“Do you like it?” Her father asked one day at the dinner table.

She glanced up from her salad and wrinkled her nose at the question.

“Like what?”

“Acting,” repeated her father. Her mother put down her utensils and turned to look at her, prompting a sudden nervousness to come forth that wasn’t there before. “Kiddo, did you ever think about this? Do you actually like acting? Or are you only doing it because I like it?”

“That’s a silly question.” Clarke replied with a snort. “Mom is a surgeon and you don’t see me stitching up a man for fun.”

Her parents chuckled.

“Maybe you should try it.” Her mother cajoled. “It is pretty fun.”

“Ew, mom. That’s disgusting.”

“You’re dodging the question,” noted her father. “Think about it.”

Clarke slowly ate her salad and contemplated the answer to her father’s question.

Did she like acting? Of course she did. But she didn’t need to go into acting. It wasn’t as if she needed to be famous, really. She just liked acting. Plenty of people liked to do things, but they don’t need or have to make a career out of it to like it. She doesn’t have to be like her father. She knew that.

Whether her mother liked it or not, Clarke grew up watching her father’s works on the big screen. She saw the dedication and passion her father put into his projects and it was inspiring to say the least. Like her father, she loved the arts. Acting was a type of art that could be worked on, developed, and perfected like any other. She was enthralled by the prospect of perfecting her own craft one day and creating her own legacy in the same way her father had. Not to mention, it was fun to pretend to be someone else for several months and get paid for it. She even got to dress up and everything. Surely, she could do both, no? 

“I love it, dad.” Clarke told her father before she went to sleep that night. “It’s awesome and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I want to be like you one day, adored by all and known as the best.”

“Oh, don’t let your mother hear that.” Her father joked, poking her in the nose and making her laugh. “She’s been trying to steer you towards medicine for years. She’ll tell me I’m too bad of an influence.” 

“You _are_ a terrible influence, but I love you anyway.”

The two of them laughed. Her father tucked her into bed, brushed her bangs away from her face, and gave her a big wet kiss on the forehead.

“Listen to me, kiddo. Never be afraid to go after your dreams. I don’t care what it is. No matter what stands in your way, as long as you stay strong and strive for what you want, you’ll get it. Never give up.”

“Yes, dad.” Clarke replied with a roll of her eyes. She patted his hand in reassurance. “You’re being such an old man right now. You’re supposed to tuck me in, not give me an existential crisis.”

“Now where in the holy war did you learn about that?”

“The internet, duh!”

It was as if her answer to her father’s question sparked her interest in acting once again and gave her a second wind. It was her mantra as she auditioned for more roles than she could take on, stayed up late at night rehearsing in front of the mirror after finishing her homework, and jogged early in the morning to keep her body in good health.

She loved acting and she was having fun doing it.

That’s all that mattered in the end.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

Clarke Griffin was 13 years old when she landed the role of Camila in a dark fantasy drama film called _Arabesque_.

For half a year, Clarke divided her time between going to classes, memorizing dance routines, shooting scenes, and promoting the crap out of the movie. She was so busy with her work that she completely forgot about Wells’ 14th birthday. In her defense, she had been traveling with her cast members doing non-stop promotions for the movie and Wells’ birthday party completely fell off her list of things to do. So when she answered his phone call after a brutal press event in London, Wells was royally pissed.

“Did you forget about my party?” Wells asked, all accusatory.

“Of course I didn’t,” Clarke replied. She winced at the lie and fiddled with the necklace Wells got her for her 13thbirthday. She hadn’t meant to lie, but Wells’ accusing tone touched a nerve with her and it just came out. “I just couldn’t get away, Wells. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

“How?” Wells scoffed. “It’s bad enough that you missed my birthday party, but you didn’t even call me. It’s my 14th birthday and my best friend is in—I don’t even _know_ where you are right now—and she didn’t even bother to call. I had to make the call. _Me_ , the birthday boy. Did you even get me a present?”

“Of course I did! Listen, I’ve been busy. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been busy and I couldn’t find the right time an—” Clarke took a deep breath. “This is important to me, Wells. You know that.”

There was silence on the other end and Clarke tugged at her necklace, desperately waiting for Wells to say something.

“I would think I’m more important than a stupid movie.”

Before Clarke could even say anything, Wells hung up the phone.

The silence that followed her as she stood there in her hotel room all alone was deafening.

But Clarke didn’t have time to dwell on such matters. She had to review interview questions for tomorrow’s promotion and practice some French to impress the Parisian fans. It didn’t matter that her birthday present to Wells called to her on the sofa, all neatly pressed and wrapped with a beautiful golden bow. She’ll have to make it up to him later, but for now all she could do was press on. She offended the third most important person in her life for this movie so she might as well do her best, right?

When Clarke got back from her press tour, she made it her mission to seek out her best friend. He was, true to Wells’ sensibilities, watching _The Crimes of Grindelwald_ and shouting all his misgivings about the movie at the screen. He ignored her as she plopped down in the seat next to him and didn’t even bat an eyelash when she put his birthday present on his lap.

“What is this, spoils from your press tour?” Wells scoffed derisively.

“Yeah, something like that.”

When Wells made no move to touch the clearly offending object, Clarke rolled her eyes and took it from him. Her hand didn’t get a chance to pull the gift away before Wells stole it back from her without missing a beat. She hid a smile as she watched him open his present, mumbling angrily all the way through several empty nesting boxes to reach a small box with a list of various itineraries, tickets, and a yellow black tie on the inside.

“Is this…?” Wells tore his focus away from the list in his hand and turned to look at her. “Is this—”

“The most epic Harry Potter tour you could ever ask for? Yes, it is.” Clarke beamed, proud of herself for being the source of that awe-inspired look on Wells’ face. “Warners Brothers Studios tour, Lumley Castle, tour of the Highlands, a ride on the Hogwarts Express, a very exclusive Edinburgh tour, and last but not least—lunch with the creator of one of the world’s favorite wizard.”

“No. Way.”

Clarke smirked.

“Way.”

“H-Ho-How did you manage to score that?” Wells all but shrieked out, scanning through all the tickets to look the answers he knew wasn’t there. “W-Wha—”

“W-Wh-Why are you stuttering? Honestly, do you ever listen when I talk?”

“No?” Wells replied, clearly still in shock. “Clarke, just tell me already!”

Wells smacked her for good measure and if Clarke wasn’t so full of love for Wells’ welcoming forgiveness (no matter how subtle), she would have yelled at him for the violence. But she was just grateful he forgave her and so she crossed her arms, straightened her body, and cleared her throat.

“Do you know who produced _Arabesque_?”

“Who?”

“David Heyman.” Wells’ loud gasp of recognition was all Clarke needed to say, but she couldn’t help it. “Pop quiz time, David Heyman also produced—?”

“Harry P-Potter.”

“ _C-Can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you_. That’s going to be you when you meet fair lady Rowling, I just know it!” Clarke quoted directly from the Sorcerer’s Stone movie, laughing until her belly ached at the screams and shrieks her best friend was expelling from his body like some sort of possessed banshee. When Wells settled down from his high, Clarke pulled him into a hug and whispered, “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

“Don’t make a habit out of it.” Wells quipped back, squeezing the daylights out of her with his impressive arms. “I’m sorry I called your movie stupid.”

“You’re going to regret it.” Clarke threatened, thumping him in the back. Has he always been this tall? When she left for the press tour, Wells had been the same height as her. But hugging him now, it was obvious he had a growth spurt. She had missed his birthday and now an opportunity to make fun of his growth spurt too? What else had she missed? She let out a sigh of sadness and pressed Wells closer to her, afraid to let go. “I’m going to win awards with this movie.”

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

Four months later, at the age of 13 and ½, Clarke Griffin was nominated for Leading Teen Actress at the Young Artist Awards for Best Performance in a Feature Film. _Arabesque_ took a lot out of her thirteen-year-old self and it was a film that Clarke was extremely proud of despite all the sacrifices she had to make to get herself there.

That was, until she met the cast of _Marauders_.

Clarke was just passing by on her way to grab some snacks before the ceremony started when an unfamiliar voice called out her name. She perked up at the sound and looked around the room, immediately spotting a group of several teenage boys and one distinctively red-headed teenage girl ambling towards her.

The boys, all varying in height and weight, were dressed well in their matching suits and the girl—Raven Reyes, to be exact—looked absolutely stunning in a green dress. Clarke didn’t have to recognize Raven to realize the group were the main cast of _Marauders_. For a second, she was hesitant to even talk to them because of her mixed feelings about the whole thing, but Raven’s bright smile was so infectious she couldn’t help but flash a smile back.

“Hi there,” greeted Raven with a wave. “I don’t know if you remember me but I—”

“You’re Raven Reyes.” Clarke beamed. “Of course I remember you.”

“Wow, I didn’t think you would.” Raven laughed in embarrassment, her face turning as red as her hair. A snicker from one of the boys snapped her out of her daze and she threw the boy a glare before she turned back to Clarke. “Oh Clarke, let me introduce you to my friends. This is Jasper Jordan, he plays Peter Pettigrew on the show. John Murphy here is Sirius Black. The guy munching on a donut is Monty Green and he plays Remus Lupin. And that guy there is Bellamy Blake. He’s James Potter.”

“Hi guys, nice to meet you all.” Clarke said, looking over at the infamous quartet.

The boys gave her a varied set of greetings, all with their own personalities.

Jasper Jordan was a pale gangly boy with long curly black hair that looked a bit too suave and self-assured to be Peter Pettigrew, but considering she doesn’t know much about _Marauders_ series, she couldn’t really say for sure. It wasn’t like the Harry Potter series offered much insight into his character anyway.

The teen boy playing Sirius Black though, he was definitely quite the character with that brooding antagonistic look on his face. Monty Green himself looked like the embodiment of Remus Lupin, all shy smiles and a flurry of flustered awkward waves, and Clarke couldn’t help the desire to give him a hug. He looked very anxious.

Bellamy Blake, the teenage boy playing Raven’s on-screen other half, was older than Clarke expected him to be. Taller than all the boys with olive tanned skin and a splatter of freckles on his face, he seemed to fit the bill of James Potter. His black curly hair certainly matched James Potter’s description and so was that smirk on his face that suggested he knew what he was about.

“You were Camila in _Arabesque_ , right?” Bellamy started. “I—”

“That movie was wonderful!” Raven interrupted, earning a glare from her co-star. “How many hours a night do you train to get your body to move the way it does?”

“Raven here needs dancing lessons.” Monty pointed out. “You should introduce her to your trainer.”

“Shush it, you.” Raven scoffed playfully. “Apparently, Lily Evans is an avid fan of dancing and… well… I’m Lily Evans!”

Raven’s tone was very excited, but look she threw Clarke’s way suggested otherwise.

“I have to say, it’s such an honor to meet the girl nominated for Leading Teen Actress for that film.” Jasper stated, moving forward with full intentions of reaching out and kissing Clarke’s hand. But before he could, John smacked him upside the head. “Ow!”

“Don’t mind him,” noted John. “He’s been saying that to all the girls.”

“I have not!” Jasper denied.

“So, how did you two meet?” John asked, eying the two girls and not subtly ignoring Jasper’s death glare.

“Funny you should mention that,” said Raven. “Clarke and I actually met at _Marauders_ auditions four years ago.”

“What? No way.” John let out a clearly fake gasp and turned to look at Raven, making Clarke laugh as the inkling of Sirius Black seeped through his own personality. “They chose you over _her_? Are you for real?”

“Hey!” Clarke snapped, jumping to Raven’s defense. “Raven totally knocked her audition right out of the park. She was amazing.” 

“Amazing at being awful.”

John pretended to vomit and Raven smacked him upside the head for good measure. Apparently, that’s a thing with the cast of _Marauders_ and Clarke was digging it.

“Anyway!” Raven rolled her eyes and glanced at Clarke with a flustered embarrassed smile on her face. “I’m surprised you even remember me, Clarke. Even _I_ wanted to erase that moment from my memories. I can’t believe what I did.” 

“What did you do?” Jasper and Monty asked, their voices eerily in sync.

“I embarrassed myself in front of her father.”

Quietly, without anyone realizing it, Clarke’s stomach sank.

A part of Clarke knew something like this would happen eventually. There were a handful of people who knew her relation to Jake Griffin and they were all in the industry, so it was only a matter of time before someone found out. She knew she couldn’t possibly hide her father’s identity for long. But tonight, in front of the cast of _Marauders_ , to the girl who deserved to be Lily Evans more so than Clarke ever did, at an award ceremony where she was nominated for leading teen actress by _her_ own merits—tonight was not it.

“Rav—”

“I was fan girling so hard. To be fair, everyone and their mothers were fangirling so it wasn’t just me. But oh my god, when you meet Jake Griffin, your mind just blanks an—”

“Hold up, Jake Griffin is your father?” Jasper gasped out. “ _The_ Jake Griffin? The one with more than 5 Oscar wins and well over 30 nominations? _That_ Jake Griffin?”

“How do you know that?” Monty asked, weirded out by Jasper’s apparent wealth of knowledge.

“Yes.” Clarke replied reluctantly, wincing at more than just Jasper’s loud screech. Out of habit, her hand went to Wells’ necklace and tugged at it nervously as she watched the quartet’s expressions change at the news. Jasper and Monty looked awe-inspired, Raven was beaming with pride for having met the famous man, and Bellamy… While everyone had positive reactions to her father’s identity, Bellamy was noticeably silent. The furrow of his eyebrows suggested he wasn’t happy about it and his stare down at her made her all the more nervous. “Jake Griffin is my father, but let’s not talk about that. I—”

“Typical,” drawled Bellamy. He crossed his arms and let out a derisive scoff that had everyone eyeing him warily, waiting on his every word. “Of course you would be nominated.”

His harsh tone was hard to ignore.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked.

“I mean of course Jake Griffin’s _daughter_ would be nominated for an award. They just saw your name and voila! You’re in. No effort necessary.”

“Bellamy!” Raven hissed. “Don’t be rude. Clarke’s performance was outstanding.”

“It was!” Monty and Jasper echoed.

Clarke didn’t know what to say.

All she could do was stare at Bellamy Blake, shocked beyond words at the accusation in his voice and the sudden anger in his eyes. Just moments before, he was a bit standoff-ish but perfectly adequate. Now, he was seething with anger and she knew there was nothing she could say that would change his mind.

For what could she say to dissuade this clearly idiotic fool from judging her so? Wasn’t that what the producers of _Marauders_ thought when they initially chose her as the leading Lily Evans? It’s not like Bellamy said anything untrue. They did choose her for Lily Evans because of her father’s big name. But…

Clarke clenched her jaw.

That was then.

This was now.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clarke stated. She glanced around the crowd, desperately looking for someone she knew so she could escape this suddenly very stifling conversation. “I worked my butt off for this role. If yo—”

Bellamy’s harsh laugh cut through Clarke’s explanation and she snapped her mouth shut, shame and embarrassment running through her body like a glass of water had been splashed over her.

“Hey!” John hissed, trying to diffuse the tension. “There’s no need for that tone, Bellamy.”

“Are you telling me you _didn’t_ get the role because of your father? That you got it yourself?” Bellamy asked, quirking a pointed eyebrow. “You can tell us the truth. I mean, we all know it.” 

“What is your problem?” Clarke asked, quietly trying to reign in her anger. 

“Nothing, princess.” Bellamy shoved his hands into his pants and turned away, pretending to be very busy looking at the other guests around the room. But even with the forced casualness and the note of closure to the conversation, the angry boy couldn’t help but add in: “I just don’t like it when spoiled brats depend on their parents to—”

The slap that rang through the room was loud and harsh against the hushed conversations.

Clarke didn’t even know she did it until she pulled her hand away.

All she remembered was embarrassment at having been called out, shame at the boy’s sharp tongue, and an overwhelming flood of anger because none of what he said was true. It could have been if Clarke wasn’t who she was. If she had accepted the role of Lily Evans four years ago, his words would have been true. But it wasn’t. She stepped away from that role not because she didn’t love Harry Potter, but because she knew she didn’t deserve it. She stepped away because she knew _Marauders_ deserved better. Surely that counted for something? He knew _nothing_ and yet there he stood, insulting her very choices, and Clarke couldn’t control what came over her. 

“Don’t insult me.” Clarke commanded, hiding her trembling hand behind her back. Bellamy stared at her with wide eyes, looking more surprised at her attack than angry. His hand cupped his now red cheek and she smiled with satisfaction at the sight. Bellamy, in turn, narrowed his eyes at her. “For your information, I didn’t buy my way in. But if I were you, I would be careful what I say. No one—least of all me—would appreciate you insinuating my father would stoop so low as to bribe people to let his daughter in. My father is known for many things, but lack of integrity is not one of them.” 

Bellamy opened his mouth to retort when a shadow fell over all of them.

Judging from the looks on the quintet’s faces, it was probably an adult. Clarke gulped and glanced behind her dreading what the adult had witnessed and how much trouble she’s in. But to her surprise, it was only her agent looming over them. In her formidable black jumpsuit, golden chains, swept up hair, and black eyeliner, Anya Warren looked very menacing as she stared down the cast of _Marauders_ with a one single sharp eyebrow raised.

“Is there a problem here?” Anya asked, drawling her voice in a way that would make Alan Rickman proud.

“N-No problems, ma’am.” Jasper stuttered out, scared out of his mind.

“We were just talking, that’s all.” Raven replied with a nervous laugh.

“Hello there, ma’am.” John winked. If it was any other situation, Clarke would have laughed at his answer. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“There are no problems here.” Clarke reported. She turned and was about to walk away from this stupid conversation, but when her eyes caught Bellamy’s profile from her peripheral vision, an idea came to her and she stopped in her tracks. “Actually, you’re friends with the production team at _Marauders_ , right Anya?”

Raven, John, Jasper, and Monty whispered to each other, surprised that she had addressed the adult like a friend. They clearly didn’t know Anya was her agent. Bellamy, blessed his soul, stood there with arms akimbo and a glare that could kill. Did the boy have any other expressions in his repertoire?

“Yes…” Anya replied with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

“Can you be a dear and find out who was the casting agent for James Potter?” Clarke looked straight at Bellamy as she said the next few words. “I want to congratulate the agent on finding the most _unbearable_ arrogant douchebag in the countr—”

“What did you just call me!” Bellamy hissed.

Before he could step forward and probably pummel Clarke to death, the rest of his _Marauders_ friends quickly pulled the stupid boy back.

Jasper and Monty cackled and saluted her as if she was a general in battle. Raven shot her an apologetic look and signaled that she would call her, never mind that the girl didn’t even have her number. John, true to Sirius Black’s character, winked at her. The four of them waved and wordlessly dragged Bellamy away from her vicinity. The sight of Bellamy silently yelling and kicking up a storm in pure indignation as he was dragged away was satisfying to watch.

“That went spectacularly well.” Anya commented, dry. “You’re lucky they banned the bloodhounds from this room or else we’ll have a field day tomorrow.”

“Could be worse. My father could be here.” At her statement, Clarke turned to study Anya. “My father isn’t… here, is he?”

“No, he stayed away.”

Clarke nodded her head, conflicted at her agent’s answer.

On the one hand, Clarke was sad her father wasn’t present. When she was younger, Clarke tried to attend all of her father’s award ceremonies. At least, whenever her mother could fit it into her busy schedule. The woman, despite being married to a world-famous actor, didn’t like the limelight and avoided it as much as possible. Clarke had imagined her father would be there for her first award ceremony—whatever it might have been.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to be overshadowed by her father’s light. She was afraid that his presence would take away from _Arabesque_ itself and from her own accomplishments in the film. Even the mere mention of his name had caused a rift between her and potential new friends. She couldn’t imagine what his _actual_ presence would do. The world will explode, probably.

“And my mom?”

“Your mom couldn’t make it.” Anya replied, busy typing out texts on her phone. “She got called into work.”

“Wells couldn’t make it either?”

“He’s grounded, remember?” Her agent lowered her phone and glanced over at Clarke. “But you knew that, so why are you asking?”

“Nothing.”

Clarke flashed Anya a faint smile and glanced around the room.

Fellow actors were roaming about, mingling with their friends and family and having fun with each other. Compared to her, they obviously had people supporting them at their sides whispering encouragements and singing applauses. They looked incredibly happy. And she… In this room, with her very stern agent as her only supporter, Clarke felt very much alone.

But she wanted this, right?

She devoted tons of sweat and tears into the project, missed her best friend’s birthday to promote the film, and banned her father from the award ceremony for this moment of acknowledgement, right? Was that it? What was she trying to proof? To proof what to who? To fix her inferiority complex for what?

None of it worked.

Even though Clarke won the nomination for Best Performance by a Leading Teen Actress at the Young Artist’s Awards, the joy of being a winner for a brief moment couldn’t compare to the loneliness that overwhelmed her the rest of the night. With the exception of the driver, no one knew she had bawled her eyes out on the way home. Her shining gold award was forgotten and abandoned on the floor of the car.

Clarke Griffin’s win for Best Supporting Actress at the Academy Awards one month later did nothing for her either and she had no one to blame but Bellamy Blake.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

Growing up, Clarke and her father made it a habit to surprise her mother in the hospital where she worked. Between Clarke’s classes and his job, they didn’t do it often. But whenever their schedules permitted, Clarke and her father would throw together a quick meal, place it in their most elaborate picnic bag, and race off to the hospital so they could have lunch with her mother. It was one of Clarke’s favorite thing to do: spending quality time with her parents.

So on December 8th, ten days before her 14th birthday, Clarke was more than happy to jump into the car with her dad. They usually make sandwiches together to bring to her mother, but as soon as she got off the school bus, her father was waiting for her with a bright smile on his face. She didn’t even have to ask him what was going on to know what he planned. The insulated picnic bag in his hand was enough of a clue.

“This is a surprise,” said Clarke on the ride to the hospital.

“It’s been a while, don’t you think? Someone was too busy filming and winning awards.”

“Speak for yourself. Didn’t your film win all the awards ever?”

“Which film?”

Clarke stared at her father for a moment, trying very hard to keep it together, but the deadpanned arrogant expression on his face was too much for her to handle and the both of them burst out laughing. She propped her legs on the dashboard and settled into her seat. It was warm in the car and despite the riveting conversation with her father, she was slowly falling asleep.

“What did you make her?” She asked absentmindedly.

“Roast beef sandwiches.”

“Yum.”

“You know…” Her father started after a lapse in silence. He glanced at her for a split second before he turned his attention back to the road, seeming too casual for even him. She perked up at the questionable behavior. “A little birdie told me that _Marauders_ is looking for actors. Something about guest appearances. Auditions start in two months, I think.”

Clarke frowned at the news, not really understanding why her father would bring that up out of all things. He, of all people, should know _Marauders_ was a taboo subject.

“So?” She quirked an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You should audition for it.”

“No,” was all Clarke said on the matter.

“Clarke, you’ve loved Harry Potter ever since you were young. You washed the dishes every day for three months for a chance to go to the auditions and you _hate_ washing the dishes.” Her father chuckled, the sound immediately irking Clarke. “I know it won’t be a main role, but you can still make an appearance. You can still be a part of that legacy like you wanted.”

“I said no.” Clarke repeated, turning to look out the window on her side.

“Why not?”

“Cause.”

“‘Cause’ isn’t an answer.” At a red stoplight, her father poked her on the arm to get her attention. She brushed his hand away and remained staring at the view outside her window. From her peripheral vision, she could see her father trying to get her attention but she ignored him. When the light turned green, the car started moving again. “Kiddo, tell me what you’re thinking. I know my being famous had… hindered your goals that day bu—”

“Yeah well, not everything is about you, dad.” Clarke scoffed.

A pause.

“So this _is_ because of me.”

She shifted in her seat.

“Of course not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I am not lying!” Clarke hissed.

“You know you can talk to me about these things, right? That I’m here to listen to whatever you have to say? That you can even blame me?” Her father sighed, glancing over at her again. “I’m sorry about that day. I got all excited and I wanted to see my kid shine and… I should have thought about it. I’m sorry.”

Clarke crossed her arms in front of her, determined to keep mum. It didn’t help that the lump in her throat was growing bigger as the conversation continued. All the bitter and sad feelings from that day were returning to her and she did not want them to come back. But the more her father talked, the worse she felt and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh at the sad look on his face. Brushing hair away from her face, Clarke shifted in her seat again and turned to her father.

“It’s not your fault. Yeah my hopes and dreams were dashed, but it’s not because of you. It’s…” Clarke cleared her throat, trying and failing to keep her voice as calm as possible. “It’s because I wasn’t… I wasn’t good enough.”

It was the first time Clarke had ever admitted it.

Sure, she had thought about it in passing whenever she auditioned for other roles after _Marauders_. Sure, she had used the mantra of ‘I have to be better’ to motivate herself. But the concept—the very idea—of her inadequacy hadn’t been fully realized until now. A pang of hurt, dull and aching, spread through her chest at the realization and she struggled to contain her emotions. How long had she been holding on to this idea, afraid to even breathe for fear of—

“Yes, you are.” Her father claimed, snapping her out of her daze. He patted her knee with a frightfully cold hand and pulled back to pay attention on the road. “You are more than enough. My god, you’re 13 years old and you have a Young Artist Award _and_ an Academy Award under your belt, Clarke. You know as well as I do that not a lot of 13-year-olds can say that.”

“I’m almost 14.” Clarke pointed out.

“Alright, not a lot of _almost_ 14-year-olds can say that. Why would you ever think that you’re not good enough?”

“Because I’m not you.” Clarke confessed hotly, brushing her hair away so it’ll fall over and hide her face. “Because if people find out I’m your daughter, they’ll expect things from me that I can’t give and I… I’m not you, dad.”

“You do—”

“What can I say? I have an inferiority complex. I’ll throw in a little dad complex too.” Clarke laughed at her own joke and shrugged at her father when he gave her a withering look. “You don’t have to remind me how much I love Harry Potter. I _know_. But… I can’t join _Marauders_. Anya has done a great job with hiding the fact that I’m your daughter, but everyone at _Marauders_ know who I am and I don’t want to put myself out there like that again.”

“Yeah… You _were_ pretty moody after you rejected their offer.”

Clarke laughed.

“More like heartbroken.”

Her father looked like he had more to say, but in the end, he settled with:

“I love you, Clarke. I just want you to be happy. You have to remember that. Do what you want to do, be happy, and eat a lot. How much do you weight again?” He scoffed, not bothering to wait for her answer. “Not enough, that’s how much. Eat more, why don’t you? I won’t have a _twig_ as a daughter.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Yes, dad.” Her stomach growled one more time and she glanced at the picnic bag at her feet. “How many sandwiches did you make? Can I ta—”

What happened next was something that Clarke could never explain or re-tell in certain terms.

One moment, she was reaching forward to grab the sandwiches her father had packed away.

The next moment, Clarke’s world turned upside down.

The loud banging that jerked her body violently in her seat turned into skidding screeches. Shrapnel and debris flew everywhere, adding to the thundering cacophony all around her. Sharp pieces of glass cut into her skin like some sort of magical attack.

At one point, she had blacked out.

It was the only answer she could come up with because the next thing she knew, she was hanging upside down. Her head rang in a silence that was so uncanny she thought she had gone deaf from the impact. Warm blood pooled on the ground where her head was scraped against and Clarke didn’t have to check to know that it was hers.

“Dad?” She called out. A sharp ringing pain ricocheted through her abdomen at the strain and her vision swirled in pain. Fear rang through her when no one answered and she yelled out again, louder this time despite the pain. “Dad?!”

Clarke pulled against the binds of her seatbelt but the lock would not release no matter how much she pushed. Panic shocked her system and she tried again, desperate to get herself out and find her father. No matter how busy he was or what he was doing, her father would always stop to check up on her.

If he didn't answer…

Clarke pressed her hands on the ground—why was it so close to her?—and tried to angle her head to look around but the pain was too much. Her vision swirled. A moment later, Clarke tried again and she managed to turn her head an inch or two to her right before another round of pain hit her. She cried out as the skin on her forehead, pressed tightly against the paved ground, scraped as she moved. Even with the pain, she noticed that no one echoed her cry.

With a sense of foreboding, Clarke blinked several times to clear her vision and the sight that greeted her took her breath away in unexpected terror.

Her father’s body was laying several feet from where he had been thrown, unmoving in the darkness of the night. His right leg was angled oddly, bones breaking through his skin in a grotesque show of mutilation. Turned towards her, his face was scraped beyond recognition on one side. Though his eyes reflected the bright lights in the most brilliant way, he looked like he did not recognize where he was or what was happening.

He looked dazed.

His eyes stared out, unblinking.

He did not answer her.

Clarke sat there in her seat, hanging upside down with blood slowly trickling down her neck, and begged her father to answer her for what seemed like hours. The realization that her father, even in the moment of near death, was reaching out for her only strengthened her cries.

Her quiet desperation was the only thing she remembered quite vividly from the night of the accident.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

The night of the accident, her mother was nowhere to be found.

Fortunately, Wells’ father Thelonious Jaha was working that night in the oncology department. As her father’s secondary healthcare proxy, the first being her mother, Thelonious was able to give the neurology department the surgical consent they needed to operate on her father. He filled out the paperwork for both Clarke and her father and waited with her as the nurses tried to contact her mother.

But calls to her went unanswered and her mother did not appear.

And so, Clarke waited in her hospital bed, worried sick with anxious trepidation and bone-chilling fear. Did something happen to her mother while on route to the hospital earlier that day? Was she stuck in a ditch somewhere, unconscious or possibly dead? Clarke had hundreds of cuts all over her body, one side of her head had been scraped raw, and three of her ribs were broken. She should be resting. All the medications the doctors gave her should knock her out. But all she could think of was her father on the operating table with a fate unclear and her mother’s mysterious disappearance. 

Her tears would not stop and neither did her imagination.

“Clarke,” called Mr. Jaha. He entered the room purposefully five hours after she was admitted, closing the door on the two nurses loitering outside with concerned looks on their faces. “How are you feeling?

“Do you have news?” Clarke asked, wincing at the scraped raspy quality to her voice. “Is my fa—”

“Clarke, you know we’re not at liberty to say.” Mr. Jaha replied.

“You’re his healthcare proxy. Surely you can tell me something. Minor or not, I’m his daughter!”

The look he gave her told her he understood and felt her frustration, but he clearly could not help her. Clarke knew she should be angrier at him or demand for more news. Yet the only feeling that encompassed her thoughts was worry.

“We’re trying to get in contact with your mother.”

Clarke’s grip on her hospital blanket tightened, disregarding how the scrapes on her hand cracked with tension.

“You still haven’t been able to?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Mr. Jaha paused, looking very much like he had more to say but wasn’t sure how. Clarke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What is it?”

“Are you sure your mother was scheduled to work today?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Clarke replied, incensed that they were bothering her with something as stupid and inane as this when they couldn’t tell her if her father was alive or dead. Her ribs hurt at every breath she took, but she paid it no mind. “We were on our way to surprise her with dinner. Why would we go if we weren’t sure she was here? We’re not stupid, you know!”

“Clarke, calm down.” Mr. Jaha cajoled, glancing at the monitors at her bedside warily. “I just wanted to confirm, that’s all. She’s not on the schedule and her superiors said they haven’t seen her in a week.”

“What…?” Clarke’s voice failed her. The pressure of everything that was happening and the lack of information was making her head hurt and she tried to massage her head to relieve the pressure, but it was to no avail. She couldn’t exactly massage her head when it was so heavily bandaged. “She’s been going to work every day this week! What do you mean they haven’t seen her?”

“Perhaps they’ve made a mistake, I’m not sure.” He backtracked. His hand shot out to pat Clarke on the shoulder but she would not have it and slapped it away weakly. She just wanted her parents. She just wanted her parents. “It’s been a long day. You should rest, Clarke. I’ll come back and tell you if I have any news, okay?”

Mr. Jaha stared at her for a moment to make sure that she was okay and Clarke gave him a nod, too tired to deal with the man. With her permission, he left the room and the click of the door signaled for the silence to enter and envelope her in a cloud of confusion and foreboding. 

“Why would she lie?” She had asked herself in the empty space.

The next time Mr. Jaha entered the room, Clarke had all the questions on the tip of her tongue ready for rapid fire. Did they find her mother? It’s been so long, were they sure she hasn’t been kidnapped or something? Was her father out of surgery? Was he okay? Will he be able to walk again? Where was her mother? But all the questions she wanted to yell out got lodged in her throat at the expression on Mr. Jaha’s face. She had only seen that expression on his face once before, but she remembered it distinctively. It was the same expression Mr. Jaha had on when he told Wells his mother had passed away.

Wells had collapsed to his knees and screamed when he heard the news. 

Mr. Jaha didn’t tell her the news, but his expression said it all.

Clarke did not collapse. She did not scream. Her body shook with a shudder so violent she felt sick, but she did not scream or cry. She simply stared at Mr. Jaha as he made conversation and tried desperately to dispel the large lump in her throat at the emotions cemented there. Her head rang with the effort. When Mr. Jaha ran out of things to say, unable to come up with more mundane subjects, Clarke asked:

“Did you find my mother?”

Twenty hours after the car accident and six hours after Mr. Jaha’s expression told her all she needed to know, Abigail Griffin rushed into the room. Clarke let out a breath of such relief she almost cried at the sight of her mother. But upon closer inspection, her relief was suddenly snapped out of existence in favor of confusion.

Abigail was wearing the same attire she had on this morning before she left for work. The attire looked so pristine and untouched that Clarke’s worries of her being stuck in a ditch somewhere in her own accident dissipated. Her mother’s chignon of graying brown hair was impeccable. The only hint of something wrong was the way she rushed into the room, out of breath.

“Clarke!” She yelled, hurrying towards the bed.

Clarke only stared at her mother as the woman enveloped her in a hug that didn’t alleviate any of her symptoms. The arms that wrapped around her clearly didn’t know about her broken ribs or took into consideration the multiple cuts on her body, hidden underneath her hospital gown. Clarke said nothing and stared on ahead, unsure of what to think or what to do as her mother mumbled reassurances. There were so many questions running through her mind, she couldn’t even begin to start the interrogation. Where had she been? Why didn’t she answer her phone? Why wasn’t she at work? Where _was_ she when Clarke’s father—her husband!—needed her the most?

In the end, Clarke waited until her mother let go of her and stared straight at the woman as she asked:

“Do you have news about dad?”

“Oh Clarke…” Her mother’s worried expression crumbled and gave way to a wave of anguish. Her hands came up to her mouth to stifle her cries before she pulled Clarke into another rib-jabbing hug. “I’m so sorry, honey. Your father… He…”

Clarke had known, of course.

As she sat there and listened to her mother’s stumbling efforts of announcing the morbid news, she realized that she was numb to it all. How could she not be? Her mother was in anguish because her loving husband of twenty years was dead. Even though he had died six hours ago, her mother only heard the news now and so she grieved the only way she knew how—with inconsolable tears and cries of hurt.

Clarke, however, had known for six hours.

It was the only reason she could give herself to explain why she received the news of her father's death in an uncanny detached manner.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

Jake Griffin’s death instantly became global news.

The entertainment world, friends, and fans responded to the news by plastering her father’s smiling face on all forms of social and other media outlets. Within twelve hours of his death going public, her mother released a statement through her father’s publicist and agency with words of ‘beloved man' and 'utterly heartbroken’ scattered within.

Clarke didn’t bother reading through all the fluff.

She didn’t need the words to know and understand who Jake Griffin was as a man, as an actor, as a husband, and as a father. In her hospital room, Clarke forced herself to watch news reels reporting his demise and the inevitable slideshows/montages of her father in all of his acting and singing roles from the start to the end of his career. Rare pictures of her father and his family were also included along with statements like ‘he was survived by his wife Abigail Griffin and his daughter Clarke Griffin’. If the situation was different, Clarke would have called Anya up and brought on a storm. But in her hospital bed, with her mother gone again, she couldn’t bring herself to care that the world knew.

Clarke was her father’s daughter.

She was not embarrassed by it.

Not anymore.

Jake Griffin’s memorial service was held six days after his death and four days before Clarke’s 14th birthday.

It was an overly elaborate affair that extended over several days, including a private family service followed by a gathering of her parents’ extended family and close friends. Most of it was a blur to Clarke. She went through the motions the same way she went through the news of her father’s death—detached. Her lack of emotions was concerning to her mother and the woman had expressed interest in her process of grieving, but Clarke was too unconcerned to explain.

What exactly could she say? 

Clarke, sadly, wasn’t fortunate enough to keep the emotional detachment for long.

Half an hour before the start of her father’s public memorial service, Clarke spotted one pretentious James Potter actor and his _Marauders_ entourage entering the Staples Center amongst all the other celebrities. She didn’t know why it happened or why it was Bellamy fucking Blake of all people, but one look at the boy’s stony face on the camera screen and the dam that had blocked her emotions broke and she let out a shriek of anger that was unlike any other.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Clarke asked.

As she stared at Bellamy’s face on the security camera, all she could remember were the sneers the damn boy gave her when he found out Jake Griffin was her father. He had insulted her and her father by extension. And he was here, of all places? The emotions that was buried deep inside of her came to the forefront of her mind and it took everything in her power to contain the scream that threatened to make a monster out of her. Recognizing that her question went unanswered, she glanced over at Anya and quirked a sharp brow waiting for the agent to speak.

The woman, usually composed, took a moment to gather her bearings at Clarke’s sudden change in temperament and cleared her throat.

“The _Marauders_ production team was invited for this event. Most of them have previously worked with your father.”

“Bellamy Blake is _not_ a part of the production team.” Clarke hissed back. She grabbed the hem of her ridiculously long black gown, chosen by her dear beloved mother, and rushed out of the surveillance room. “I want him gone! He’s not supp—”

“Clarke, don’t be unre—”

Clarke stopped in her tracks and swiveled around to stop just inches away from Anya’s face.

“He doesn’t get to say good bye,” whispered Clarke. Her voice was raspy with emotions she could not even begin to explain and she stared at Anya, pleading to the woman with just a look alone. “Now, I’m going to the bathroom. If he’s still in this arena when I come back, you’re going to have to explain to my mother why I left because there is no way I'm going to be in the same fucking room as that _boy_." 

Clarke didn’t wait for Anya to nod in agreement before she rushed to the bathroom down the hall and locked the door as soon as she could. She couldn’t have people walking in when she needed some time alone. In half an hour, she was going to have to go out there and stay composed as people paid tribute to her father and his legacy. She needed to get her shit under control.

Yet, as soon as she walked by the mirror and saw the girl reflected there, whatever composure Clarke desperately tried to hold on to shattered. The denial that she grasped tightly in her hands had slipped through her fingers at Bellamy Blake’s presence and she finally accepted, although belatedly, that her father was gone. He was gone and she didn’t even get a chance to say good bye! One minute he was laughing at her joke and the next he was gone—just like that. If she, his one and only daughter, couldn’t say good bye to her father, what made Bellamy Blake think that he could? What made him think he had the right to be there?

He knew nothing.

He didn’t deserve to share her grief!

Clarke slammed her clenched fists on the marble counter in anger and the pain didn’t even register in her head as she let out a scream that summarized her grief and despair. Only, it was silent. Her mouth was open in a scream, but no sound came out of her except for her fists constantly slamming on the counter. The effort of screaming while making no sounds made her head ring and her body shook violently, but she could only scream more. With hundreds of people outside the door and thousands of fans out in the arena, screaming silently was the only thing she could do.

Jake Griffin’s public memorial service was broadcasted live around the world and received 28 million views in America alone.

Looking back on it, Clarke was very proud that she had kept her composure through the four-hour event. She didn’t shed a single tear. It helped that Bellamy Blake had been kicked out of the arena right before the service started.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

The months that followed were the most excruciating time of her life.

Grief was a very complicated process and there were no right ways about it. All she knew was that some days, she operated as normal as possible. But other days were too difficult to continue with a bright smile. When the situation was dire or when she felt like she no longer wanted to exist whilst in grieve, she would stay home and watch old Harry Potter movies.

Sometimes, her mother would ask if she could accompany Clarke. More often than not, Clarke would reject the request.

These days, she found that she could no longer stay in the same room as her mother.

It was too difficult to contain the bitterness that simmered in her heart at the reminder of how her mother had failed them both: her father because she wasn’t there to consent to life-saving surgeries and her because she had lost her father and heard it from Mr. Jaha of all people. Yes, he was her father’s best friend but who would want to hear such agonizing news from anyone other than their own mother? It didn’t help that Clarke’s question of ‘where were you?’ went unanswered. When asked, her mother would try her best to re-direct Clarke’s question. The effort to remain civil was too much.

It was just easier to avoid her mother as much as possible.

Sometimes, Wells would join her.

It was so reminiscent of the old days before everything changed and Clarke welcomed the feelings that such sessions invoked. Spending time with him watching old Harry Potter movies were the highlights of her day. Then again, it wasn’t as if she did anything else except go to school and watch Harry Potter movies. Her obsession and insistence on watching the old movies ( _and_ the Fantastic Beasts pentalogy, of course) was probably what influenced Anya.

Three months after her father’s death, Anya interrupted Wells’ and Clarke’s binging of _The Sorcerer’s Stone_ and handed Clarke a manuscript that had her frowning as soon as she saw the title. Wells tried to take a peek at the manuscript in her hands, but Clarke didn’t even bother before she flung it towards the coffee table. Stray popcorn jumped around and fell on the floor around them.

“ _Marauders and the Moon’s Curse_?” Clarke asked with a raise of an eyebrow. “Really? This is the only thing you could find for me?”

Used to her reservations about _Marauders_ by now, Anya didn’t even blink.

“I worked very hard to get this script for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” 

Clarke and Anya stared at each other for several moments, both exchanging an argument that held no words. Wells glanced between the two before he reached over and grabbed the manuscript, skimming through the pages with rapt attention. When she spotted what her best friend was doing, she smacked his hand and pulled the offending object from his grasp.

“Hey!” Wells yelled. “I was reading that.”

“You’re spoiling yourself,” stated Clarke. “You haven’t even finished the first season.”

“So? When will I have another chance to read something like this? _Before_ everyone else? It’s called _The Moon’s Curse_ , Clarke. The Moon! That’s definitely about Lupin.”

“I don’t care, you’re not allowed to see this.”

Wells glared at Clarke and she gave her best friend a withering look before offering the script back to Anya. When the woman didn’t take the script, Clarke turned to look at her agent. Anya was a dark brooding type of woman who wasn’t afraid to say whatever was on her mind, so the fact that she was silent through the entire exchange should have given Clarke a clue. The woman didn’t take the manuscript back, her eyes never leaving Clarke as she said:

“This was your father’s last request before he died.”

Clarke froze at the statement.

All of a sudden, the manuscript felt heavy in her hand.

She wanted to rebuke Anya’s statement. She wanted to tell the woman off because her father would never interfere with something like this. But then she remembered her last conversation with her father and Clarke’s throat clammed up. He _had_ mentioned auditions for _Marauders_. He wanted her to try out for the guest appearances. Was it so far-fetched that her father had arranged something with Anya before he even spoke to her about it?

“At least read it and think it over before you throw it away.”

Anya didn’t bother to say anything more before she turned around and left the room as quickly as she had appeared. The silence that followed her agent's exit was uncomfortable, to say the very least. Clarke quietly set the manuscript on the coffee table and stared at it. For a brief moment, she had forgotten her father was dead. For a brief moment, she had been happy. Now, she just felt… off. She wanted to cry but she wasn’t even sure why.

“I think you should do it.” Wells said after several minutes. His eyes pulled away from Neville Longbottom’s frozen body paused on the tv screen and turned to look at her. “You should do it, Clarke.”

Clarke stared at her best friend. Wells let out a sigh and shifted his whole body so he was facing her now. He took her hands in his, flinching slightly at her cold fingers, and squeezed them. She almost snickered at his reaction but refrained, watching as he tried to find the words trying to spill from his lips.

“You know why I can’t.” She pointed out finally.

“I do. I do understand your reservations but… Enough is enough, Clarke.” Wells flexed his fingers. “You wanted to proof to the world you have what it takes? You’ve done it. You have a very long and extensive Wikipedia page. This was even before the world knew you were Jake Griffin’s daughter. You wanted to be deserving of your role? You’ve proven that you have the talent. Surely _Marauders_ deserves you now, not the other way around. What’s the harm in trying out?”

“I…”

Clarke fumbled with the answer.

Five years ago, with her pride damaged and her feelings hurt, Clarke began hating everything and anything there was to love about _Marauders_. Despite her continual love for Harry Potter and the magical universe, she avoided _Marauders_ entirely and banned everyone from ever mentioning the topic in front of her. She hated the stories, the characters, and the cast. She hated the trailers, the news, and even her deep Potterhead enthusiasm couldn't persuade her to sneak peeks at the episodes to find out what J.K. Rowling had written.

Five years later, her hatred for the show only grew. It wasn't because she hated the show. It wasn't because she wasn't chosen as Lily Evans. It was, now that Clarke though about it, because of one particular person. Bellamy Blake's insult against her and her father at the Young Artist's Awards' ceremony was ingrained in her brain and she was, to this day, affronted by his blasé attitude. It should have been the best day of her life, but he had marred it with his harsh words. She would never work with the damn boy even if her life depended on it. Not even as a guest appearance.

“Bellamy Blake is a fucking douche canoe,” was what Wells said. 

“Can you believe Raven Reyes has to work with someone like _him_?” Clarke complained. “She’s the coolest and she has to endure his crap. It’s a travesty, really.”

“I kind of feel bad for her.” Clarke quirked an eyebrow at the flustered look on her best friend’s face. “I mean, I know there are other girls in the show, but she’s the only one who has to work with them constantly as the lead girl. That just sucks.”

“It does.” Clarke agreed, absentmindedly munching on some popcorn.

“You should join the cast and help her.” Wells suggested. The segue was so smooth that Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if it was planned. She let out a scoff and Wells grinned that shit-eating grin of his. “Just imagine it, Clarke. You two teaming up to defeat the one and only Bellamy Blake, terrorizing him for all his _Marauders_ ’ days. He’ll quit half way through and—”

“I use my position as a Griffin to promote you as the new and improved James Potter?” Wells enthusiastically nodded his head in agreement and Clarke tried to keep a straight face as she continued the impromptu scenario. “I knew it! I knew you were friends with me for a reason.”

“Death to Blake the Mistake!” Wells shouted out. 

“Death to Blake the Mistake!” Clarke echoed, raising her hands up in the air in a salute that rivaled Katniss in the _Hunger Games_. “All hail Jaha the—shit, what rhymes with Jaha?”

“Yeehaw?”

“That doesn’t rhyme with Jaha. Your name is Ja- _haaaa_ , not Ja- _haww_.”

As soon as Clarke finished her thought, the two of them turned to look at each other with wide eyes as if shocked by the sudden clarity. Then, without much further ado, they screamed out:

“ _It’s Levi **ooo** sa, not Levios **aaa**_!”

Clarke and Wells collapsed onto the sofa in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, snickering and sputtering out other nonsensical chants. It’s been a while since Clarke felt so happy she had to wipe tears from the corner of her eyes. Wells himself couldn’t even control himself as he smacked his fists on the sofa cushions in an effort to stave off more laughter. Every time they thought the laughing fit had died away, one look at the other person would spark another round and they guffawed some more.

It took Clarke a day to gather the courage to call Anya up and apologize to the woman for being so curt and rude.

Five days later, she was scheduled for a _Marauders_ audition.

Whenever someone asked her how she went about deciding on auditioning for _Marauders_ , Clarke would say she had a gallant desire to protect the beautiful Raven Reyes from the deadly grasps of idiotic teen boys like Blake, Murphy, Green, and Jordan. In a way, it was true. It’s the answer she always give. Only Wells Jaha and herself knew the truth.

Clarke Griffin decided to join _Marauders_ because she wanted to wipe that smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face. 

Dethroning him so her best friend could take his place as the next James Potter was a bonus, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Insert obligatory disclaimer]
> 
> Please excuse my awful grammar. I have no beta. 
> 
> Please note, the parts in italicize are from the Marauders show. I am taking liberties with said fictional show (especially with Clarke's role), but this is all fictional so I hope you understand. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The day Clarke was scheduled to appear on set for one of _Marauders’_ second season episodes, she woke up three hours early. She had scoured the internet the night before for the ultimate blueberry muffins recipe and so that morning, she attempted to make said muffins. The baked goods were a bit ugly looking but they were delicious and she hoped the production team would enjoy them despite their appearances.

Her hopes, however, were dashed when she got into the studio and saw a beautiful arrangement of blueberry and raspberry muffins on the snack table. A tall boy stood at the end of the table, rearranging one of the flowers in the vase. The trademark black and red robes of Gryffindor covered his lanky form and she was about to call out and greet the boy when her eyes spotted a note propped by the flower vase. The penmanship was large enough that she could read the ‘ _I made muffins for you guys, I hope you enjoy! Love, Bellamy Blake’_ scribbled on it.

Clarke’s eyes bore a hole in the boy’s back for a moment. 

She glanced back at the perfect looking muffins on the table with lovely frosting drizzled on top and then looked down at her own pathetic attempt. Compared to his muffins, hers were oddly shaped and looked less appetizing. A wave of embarrassment and annoyance ran through her and she lingered in her spot, unsure of what to do. She had to leave. She needed to bring this back to the car because she can’t be seen with her pathetic muffins. Not with Bellamy’s oh so perfect muffins on display.

During her slow contemplation, the boy in the Gryffindor robes finished his arranging and turned around.

Their eyes met.

As soon as he saw her, Bellamy Blake’s eyes widened behind his James Potter’s glasses and his mouth opened slightly as if wanting to say something but not knowing what. The boy had grown taller since the last time she saw him and he now towered over her by several inches. His skin was tanner than she remembered and the color emphasized his freckles in a favorable way. Now that his hair wasn’t excessively gelled, he looked less of a douche and more like a nerd, especially with those James Potter glasses of his and his Gryffindor school uniform. His face was still ugly; that much has not changed.

As his eyes gazed at her, Clarke suddenly remembered why she had wanted to leave the vicinity in the first place. She silently cursed to herself and quickly moved her basket of ugly deplorable looking muffins behind her. At the movement, Bellamy’s eyes immediately lowered to her right hand as it disappeared from view and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What’s that?” Bellamy asked, not bothering to even greet her.

“Eyes up here, buddy.” Clarke scoffed, snapping her fingers to get his attention. His eyes shot up to her face and if she didn’t know any better, she would think he was blushing. “Would you like an autograph?”

“What?”

If it was possible, Bellamy’s confusion doubled. She tried not to roll her eyes at his reaction. Could he be any more annoying?

“You’re staring at the youngest Academy Awards winner of the century, Blake.” Clarke stated. If he was going to be judgmental and think of her as _only_ a rich spoiled princess who got her way by nepotism, then she’s going to play her part well. “So, something tells me you want an autograph but you’re too embarrassed to ask.”

Bellamy chuckled, his tone mocking. The disgust was written all over his face.

“In your dreams, princess.”

“Mhmm,” murmured Clarke. “Pretty sure if it has you in it, it’s a nightmare.”

The boy’s lips turned into a thin line as though the effort to not retort was testing his self-control. He leaned against the snack table, crossed his arms, and stared at her. The way he peered made Clarke’s skin crawl, but she tried not to flinch or move lest he thought her weak. Even though he was all charm on camera, she knew for a fact that Bellamy Blake was a dick and she won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. Clarke met Bellamy’s gaze without hesitation, eyes burning with her hatred, and she hoped he got her very obvious message.

He said nothing.

She didn’t either.

Silence filled the air.

A moment later, Bellamy’s eyes broke away from hers and he carded his fingers through his hair.

“What are you doing here, Griffin?” Bellamy finally asked.

“Working,” snapped Clarke. He was glaring at her like she was an extremely dangerous suspect in a murder or something and that’s the question he decided to ask? Was he stupid? “What does it look like?”

“As what? An extra? I didn’t think the princess would demean herself like that.” Clarke burst out laughing at his question, lamenting how easy he made it for her to make fun of him. Bellamy’s eyes narrowed at her laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh Blake, didn’t you get the memo?” Clarke flashed the boy a smirk. “I’m your guest star.”

“Clarke Griffin!” A voice called out and before Clarke could even react, a strong arm reached over her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. When she pulled away, she saw John Murphy flashing a very dangerous grin at her. He, like Bellamy, was already dressed in his Gryffindor robes and school uniform. “I heard you’re going to be my on-screen cousin.”

“You heard correct.” Clarke grinned. “Nice to see y—”

“Wait,” gasped out Bellamy. “It’s you? _You’re_ playing Narcissa Malfoy?”

“Narcissa _Black_ ,” corrected Clarke without looking at her arch-nemesis.

Clarke was about to ask her on-screen cousin to give her a tour when Bellamy’s mocking laugh reached her ears. The hairs on her skin stood up at the sound. It was reminiscent of the same laugh he snorted out several months prior at the awards ceremony where they met. It was the same laugh she played over and over in her head on the car ride home that night.

And then suddenly, Clarke was back in her father’s car with her world turned upside down, desperately crying out for her father as hot thick blood trickled down her neck onto the asphalt. Her breath faltered for a second and when it came back, the feel of sharp glass pressed against her skin, the sound of her own whimpering, and the feel of blood were gone. She was back by the snack table, surrounded by oh-so-fucking-perfect muffins with John’s arm around her shoulder and her arch-nemesis eying her.

Clarke took a deep breath and flinched out of John’s embrace to turn and face Bellamy head on. He had an inquisitive almost concerned look on his face, but as soon as their eyes met, the flame in his gaze burned and his face contorted to anger once more. Oh, _he_ was angry? Really? He had some nerve!

“You got a problem with that, Blake?” She asked, incensed.

“Are you serious? Of course I do!” Bellamy shouted back, all the emotions showing on his face and seeping through his tone of voice. His anger was obvious, but so was his hatred for her and she wanted to laugh at the emotions fleeting across his face. “You were just boasting about your Academy Award win, telling me how great of an actress you are, and yet you chose to play Narcissa Black? _Narcissa_! It’s not acting if you’re pretty much playing yourself, princess.”

“You know nothing about Narcissa! Nothing! Don’t stand there an—”

“What’s there to know? She’s a princess, just like _you_. All spoiled and entitled, just like _you_. She thinks everyone is beneat—”

“Oh and an arrogant douche bag who bullies other people for no reason is so much better?”

“At least I’m a good guy!”

“Narcissa was _never_ a Death Eater! She wa—”

“She enables her husband and child so as far as I’m conce—!”

“Oh my god, you should carry a plant around to replace the oxygen you waste be—”

“Is this _thing_ between you two still going on?”

At John’s voice, she snapped out of her angry tirade and snapped at her annoying on-screen cousin:

“We don’t have a thing!” 

Clarke turned her attention back to Bellamy and was about to yell at him some more, but she stopped herself at the sudden realization of how close they were. Somehow during their argument, Bellamy and Clarke had gravitated towards each other. He was so close she could feel the fabric of his Gryffindor robes brushing against her bare legs. In this position, their height difference seemed more significant because she had to look up at him to even glare at the boy. 

Being so close to him disgusted her.

He disgusted her.

Clarke recoiled from the boy and stepped away, deliberately flinging her long blonde hair at him as she turned. The look on his face as she turned was downright murderous and she inwardly gloated in satisfaction. Returning to Murphy’s side, Clarke smoothed down her hair and adjusted the fit on her dress. John glanced between the two with a raised eyebrow and clicked his tongue.

“There is no _thing_.” Bellamy emphasized, annoyed at John’s insistence.

Clarke refused to look Bellamy’s way. He was so infuriating and she just wanted to smack him. Last time she met the _Marauders_ cast, they were taking turns smacking each other upside the head. How many episodes did she need to film in order to unlock smacking-upside-the-head privileges?

“Unless you count wanting him to suffer the fires of a thousand suns for all eternity a _thing_.”

“A thousand suns?” John threw his head back and laughed. “Really? That bad?”

“You know, like Prometheus. But with fire. From a thousand suns.” Clarke snickered, sharing John’s amusement. From her peripheral vision, she could see Bellamy studying her with a confused probably constipated look on his face but she ignored him. “Did I mention the suns? Getting his liver pecked out every day is—”

“—too weak of a punishment?” John finished with an amused question.

“Exactly!” Clarke beamed. “I knew you were my on-screen cousin for a reason, John.”

Her on-screen cousin made a face and shook his head, wagging a finger at her.

“First rule of being my on-screen cousin, don’t call me John. I prefer Murphy.”

Clarke didn’t miss a beat.

“What’s the second rule?”

Murphy rubbed his chin in suspicious contemplation and Clarke could see the gears turning in his head as his eyes landed on her hands. The hands that were holding her basket of muffins, now no longer hidden given her distraction. Shit.

“You have to share whatever _that_ is.”

“Joh—Murphy, no!”

Clarke immediately tried removing herself from Murphy’s grasp, but he proved to be too strong and his arms too long. Before she knew it, her on-screen cousin had grabbed the basket she’s been trying to hide to no avail. He held the item in front of him in mock reverence, humming an appreciative tune as he turned the basket this way and that like a model figurine. Bellamy shifted where he stood by the snack table and he quirked an eyebrow at her. Clarke fought the heat of her cheeks from blooming on her face. Great, another opportunity for the douche bag to make fun of her. 

“What is this?” Murphy asked. “Are these blueberry muffins or cupcakes with weird frosting? I can’t tell.”

“They’re _supposed_ to be blueberry muffins with streusel topping.” Clarke mumbled, embarrassed at being called out for her lack of skills. “They didn’t come out right.”

“You made these?” Murphy snickered. “Oh Clarkey Clarke, don’t you know Bellamy is the baking king around here?”

Clarke felt her face redden even more and crossed her arms in annoyance. Great, another fucking thing he was good at.

“He clearly has too much time on his hands.”

“At least I know how to feed myself, princess.” Bellamy retorted. Like moth to a flame, Bellamy moved forward and inspected the basket of muffins with rapt attention. She glared daggers at the back of his head as he did so. It didn’t take the boy long before he wrinkled his nose at the contents of her basket and turned to her, repulsed. “This isn’t a muffin, this is a cupcake. Did you know that?” 

“Shut your ugly mug.” Clarke snapped back. She should have had a better comeback, but she honestly didn’t have time for this much antagonism so early in the morning. Everyone was already dressed and she was still in her morning clothes. She turned to Murphy. “On-screen cousin, would you be a dear and show me around? I need to bestow these muffins to more deserving subjects.” She couldn’t help but glance at Bellamy as she said her last words. “I deem the current company too poor and uncivilized for my taste.”

The effects of Clarke’s words were immediate.

Bellamy’s face twisted into an ugly display of fury that she has never seen before and his eyes were blown wide with an intensity that was almost deathly. He looked absolutely furious and absolutely heartbroken at the same time and the sight of all those emotions made her chest flutter in confusion. But then Murphy wrapped an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and she snapped out of her gaze to look up at her on-screen cousin.

“Of course, my dear on-screen cousin.” Murphy laughed. “I would be honored.”

With a flourish and a grin, Murphy pulled her away from the snack table and the presence of her arch-nemesis. His cackling laugh echoed down the hall as they passed Bellamy and Clarke couldn’t help but spare the boy one last glance. The emotions she saw briefly had all disappeared and what replaced those emotions made a chill run down her spine. She immediately pulled her gaze away and urged Murphy to walk faster.

Bellamy Blake looked savage and she did not want to be anywhere near him.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

.

.

.

_Sirius Black let out a pained heart wrecking yell as he repeatedly slammed his clenched fists against the cold stone wall in front of him. His jet black hair, just as deranged as his emotions, flew everywhere and his body shook with uncontrollable rage. The sounds of his bare fists meeting stone reverberated through the empty hallway, broken only by hurried footsteps coming closer._

_“Sirius!” James Potter shouted as he approached. The messy-haired-glasses-wearing teenager pushed against the standing pillar that was Sirius, trying but failing in his attempt to stop his best friend from hurting himself. He reached out, wrapped his arms around Sirius’ body, and pulled him away from the wall with as much strength as he could. “Sirius, stop!”_

_“Let go of me, you bastard!” Sirius shouted back, pushing out of James’ arms with a harsh throw. “Let go!”_

_Sirius turned to look at his best friend then, his gray eyes livid with anger, and extended his hand out to swing at James. James dodged it as calmly as he could, pushing his glasses up as it slipped down his nose as he moved away. As if recognizing who was in front of him for the first time, Sirius blinked and recognition flooded his features. His tense shoulders slumped downward and his arm fell to his side, limp._

_“Get a hold of yourself, mate!” James started._

_“Sorry,” was all Sirius said._

_James eyed his friend and opened his mouth to say something but someone else beat him to it._

_“Sirius?”_

_A pale girl in a Slytherin school uniform suddenly appeared before them, seeming like she stumbled out of nowhere, before actually falling on the stone floor._

_._

_._

_._

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

“CUT!”

Clarke Griffin, face crimson from embarrassment, picked herself off the stone floor with a groan of frustration. Her two co-stars snapped out of their roles and glared at her. She threw an apologetic look their way before she turned to the director sitting in his chair and the rest of the staff.

“I’m sorry about that!” Clarke hung her head in shame. “I am so sorry!”

“This is the 3rd take you ruined, Clarke.” Director Diyoza stated, her tone anything but mild. She glanced around the room and sighed. “Alright everybody, let’s take a five minute break.”

As soon as the director called for break, the staff milling about waiting quickly dispersed to find snacks, go to the bathroom, or take a smoke break. Clarke let out a sigh of frustration and sat down on the ground, massaging her aching right ankle. She’s fallen so many times that she was sure there will be a bruise later if not already, but she couldn’t exactly complain about it. They had a lot on their schedule today. She already ruined three takes with her clumsiness and while most of the staff were friendly, she could tell her two co-stars were less than amused.

In fact, she could see Bellamy shooting daggers at her from the snack table as he stuffed his face with his homemade muffin. He didn’t look as angry as he did before during their altercation by the snack table, but his body language told her he was still pretty angry. Murphy stood next to him, gulping down an excessive amount of dark bitter coffee. The two guys were talking to each other and at one point, Bellamy spared her a single glance before he turned his attention back to Murphy. It was obvious they were talking about her and she would bet $100 the word ‘nepotism’ had been thrown about by the James Potter impersonator.

“Clarke?”

Clarke looked up at the sound and spotted Anya approaching. The woman was in another power suit today and the chignon on her head reminded Clarke of Professor McGonagall when she was younger. All Anya needed was a pointy hat. Clarke quickly got up from her spot on the ground, wincing at the jab of pain in her ankle, and waved to her agent.

“What’s up?”

“You’re dying out there,” commented Anya. If Anya didn’t look so serious, Clarke would have laughed at Anya’s statement. Leave it to the woman to console a 14 year old for her failures. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke shifted her stance to put more weight on her other ankle and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

Anya gazed down at her, her dark eyes inquisitive. The woman looked like she didn’t buy whatever Clarke was spouting and was trying to figure out the problem herself. Unable to withstand the agent’s intense stare, Clarke lowered her gaze to her feet and shifted her stance again. She winced at the pain, but said nothing.

It wasn’t like she could say ‘ _I’m nervous because it’s been so long since I’ve worked, I have a lot of pressure on me, to live up to my father’s legacy, to surpass him, to commemorate his life, to exude the elegance and class he had, to be the best or die trying_.’ Anya would not even bat an eyelash at those words. Her agent was that kind of woman, so Clarke kept her inner feelings to herself and said nothing.

“Producer Heyman told me you were the one-take princess in _Arabesque_.” Anya said. “Why don’t you channel that?”

“It’s not that easy, it’s not like I can turn it on and off at will.” Clarke inwardly rolled her eyes at the mentioned nickname. “I wish people would stop calling me a princess though. It’s getting old.”

“Who else calls you princess?” Anya raised an eyebrow and Clarke’s eyes immediately went to the snack table where her arch-nemesis was busy munching on his oh-so-perfect muffin. “That kid again? He looks like a—”

“Douche bag?”

“I was going to say an unsalted pretzel.”

Clarke thought about the insult, trying to make sense of it, and a smile spread across her face once she understood the implication.

“Now that’s funny.” She said, chuckling.

Her agent stared down at her, unamused by her amusement and Clarke could only laugh more.

“Wells called you earlier.” Anya commented. “He said good luck on filming today. He almost mentioned the director and how you should tell the director about his winning personality? Whatever that means.”

“Oh Wells...” Clarke snickered, rolling her eyes again at her friend’s antics. Ever since she put the idea into his head, Wells would constantly remind her to get herself in the director’s good graces and suggest him as a better James Potter. Speaking of director… “Is she angry?”

“We are slightly behind schedule, but what else is new in this industry? This is a very emotionally charged scene. I wouldn’t sweat it.” Anya glanced at the snack table and for a moment, Clarke thought her agent was glaring at Bellamy and Murphy, but then the agent asked: “What happened to your muffins?” 

Clarke was startled for a moment at the question.

To anyone else, Anya’s question was fairly innocuous, but Clarke knew better. Anya was very nonchalant about a lot of things, but the fact that she remembered Clarke had brought muffins in was very telling of her caring personality. She did pay attention despite her no-nonsense attitude and the realization that her agent was a big marshmallow on the inside made Clarke want to hug her.

“Oh, they’re all gone.” Clarke grinned, all teeth. “They looked really bad, but everyone loved them. I’m sorry I didn’t save you one.”

“I don’t eat sweets.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you consider offering?”

“Because you’re very sweet,” grinned Clarke. “And you know, sweet pairs with sweet.”

The agent stared, unimpressed as always at her weird far-reaching comment, but Clarke could see a hint of her lips curving upwards imperceptibly. She didn’t dare point it out though.

“Break is over soon,” pointed out Anya. “Do you need anything?”

“I need everything, Anya.” Clarke lamented as she spied Bellamy and Murphy walking towards her, signaling the end of their break. “ _Everything_.” 

“Fuck them.” Anya stated suddenly with the most deadpanned expression ever.

Clarke’s eyes widened at the vulgar language and raised an eyebrow that rivaled her agent’s, trying to suppress her snicker.

“I thought I can’t curse.”

“You can’t, but I can and I say fuck them.”

Anya shrugged her shoulders and gave Clarke a meaningful listen-to-what-I-say look before she turned and walked away. Bellamy and Murphy gave half-hearted greetings as they passed Anya, but the agent whizzed by without another word. The two boys both looked like they wanted to say something to Clarke, but since the break was essentially over, the three of them got accosted by make-up artists almost immediately.

As her make-up was being refreshed, Clarke took several deep breaths to calm herself. Just listen to Anya. Even though she’s a mean grump, she did mean well and she was completely right. Forget about her co-stars. Forget about that damn boy with his damn muffins for now. Ruining James Potter was always the goal, but she can’t do that if she can’t even film the first scene.

Not to mention, this was Harry Potter and everyone knew how she felt about Harry Potter. No matter her hatred for James Potter’s actor, Clarke had to do better not because she wanted to spite them, but because Harry Potter was her first love and it deserved the best. She loved the magic and she wanted to bring it to life, even if she’s just a supporting guest star character slated for 1-2 episodes a season. She had to do her best not because she had to live up to her father’s legacy, but because she loved acting.

_Do it because you love it_ was what her father would say.

With that thought in her head echoing like a mantra, Clarke took another deep breath and straightened her stance. She was ready. A brief glance at Bellamy and Murphy told her they were ready too and without even planning it, the three of them exchanged one single significant look at each other.

In the midst of the exchange, Murphy sent her a wink and it took everything in her to school her features into a blank mask in order to ignore him. He let out a chuckle of amusement and quickly apologized to his make-up artist for moving around too much.

Bellamy, on the other hand, was quiet and contemplative as their eyes met. There were make-up brushes fluttering about his face and hands all over his hair, but the intense stare the boy gave her was making her uneasy. It wasn’t in his character to _not_ say something antagonistic and she couldn’t help but be on her guard, waiting for the beat to drop.

“Try not to be so useless, princess.” Bellamy said a few seconds later as all the make-up artists walked away. “Not everyone has the time like you.”

Aaah, Bellamy did not disappoint. There was the insult she was waiting for.

Not wanting to distract herself from the script, Clarke didn’t raise to the bait and only gave him the finger, shielding the gesture with her body so no one could see it but him. Bellamy looked like he wanted to say something nasty back at her, but the director called for a countdown and whatever he had in mind was gulped down. He settled on throwing her the nastiest of glares as they got into position and waited for the ‘action!’ command.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

_._

_._

_._

_“Let go of me, you bastard!” Sirius shouted back, pushing out of James’ arms with a harsh throw. “Let go!”_

_Sirius turned to look at his best friend then, his gray eyes livid with anger, and extended his hand out to swing at James. James dodged it as calmly as he could, pushing his glasses up as it slipped down his nose as he moved away. As if recognizing who was in front of him for the first time, Sirius blinked and recognition flooded his features. His tense shoulders slumped downward and his arm fell to his side, limp._

_“Get a hold of yourself, mate!” James started._

_“Sorry,” was all Sirius said._

_James eyed his friend and opened his mouth to say something but someone else beat him to it._

_“Sirius?”_

_Narcissa Black suddenly appeared before them. Even though she was wearing the standard school uniform, the Slytherin girl appeared impeccably dressed and well put together. Her long blonde hair flowed down her back in cascades and the curtain bangs covering her forehead made her blue eyes the star of her visage. The girl looked contemplatively between the two Gryffindors and nodded her head in greeting._

_“Sirius,” called Narcissa. Her tone was polite and it was obvious she chose to ignore the scuffle that she had walked in on. “I would like to speak to you.”_

_Sirius and James exchanged a look and straightened their stances to stare at the newcomer with apprehensive expressions on their faces._

_“What do you want?” Sirius asked, straightening his robes. The red marks on his knuckles were noticeable and James frowned at the sight but Narcissa didn’t even bat an eyelash. “I’m very busy, Narcissa.”_

_“Yes, you clearly are.” Narcissa glanced at James and then back to her cousin. “But I need to talk to you **alone** , cousin.”_

_At the mention of their relation, Sirius’s jaw tightened and his eyes hardened their focus on her. He said nothing to Narcissa’s plea. James crossed his arms and scoffed at the girl in front of him._

_“It’s funny that you’re acknowledging his existence now when you’ve been ignoring him for the last year and a half.” James stated, the disdain clear in his voice._

_“What’s funny is how you think this concerns you in any way, Potter.” Narcissa replied calmly, not bothering to even spare James a glance. Her bright blue eyes were solely focused on Sirius. “Cousin, plea—”_

_“If it concerns Sirius, it concerns me.” James interrupted, glaring daggers at the ever so aloof Narcissa._

_Sirius stood at the sidelines with narrowed eyes and tightened jaw. The dark look on his face was more than enough to indicate his emotions._

_“Family matters are just that—family matters.” Narcissa arched an eyebrow at Sirius, urging him to say something. When it was obvious he didn’t, Narcissa’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t bother looking at James as she said: “Run along, Potter. Surely you can find something to occupy your time. Perhaps, a certain mu—”_

_“Finish that word and I will hex you!”_

_James whipped out his wand from the inside of his robes and pointed the mahogany weapon at the young blonde in front of him. Narcissa’s blonde hair fluttered at James’ movements but she barely flinched as the weapon was aimed at her. Her arched eyebrow remained, but now James had her attention. Even though the two of them were the same age, the way Narcissa carried herself in that prim almost austere manner made her seem a lot older than James himself._

_“Careful,” said Narcissa casually though her tone was anything but casual. “With those manners, one would think you weren’t taught the proper way to treat someone of my standing. What would Lady Potter say?”_

_“I give respect to those who are deserving and my mother would agree.”_

_“Sirius, your friend is holding me in contempt for no reason other than house rivalry and I… Well, I thought I was being considerate coming to you about my concerns for Regulus.” The gasp from Sirius was audible and Narcissa chuckled, the sound quiet but dangerous in its tone. She inspected the well-manicured nails of her right hand, purposefully showcasing how the ring with the Black family signet sparkled on her middle finger, and turned back to look at Sirius with a cold menacing look in her bright blue eyes. “Clearly, I’ve been too kind.”_

_James immediately pulled his wand back to his side, face red with a mix of anger and embarrassment. He exchanged a worried glance at his friend and the dark-haired boy gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before turning to his cousin._

_With her blonde hair and his dark ones, Narcissa and Sirius were the exact opposite of each other. One was prim and proper and the other one was rebellious and wild. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, his grey eyes staring down at her blue ones with grim expressions on their faces. Then, a smile broke on Sirius’ face and he walked over to his cousin to swing an arm around her in a manner that had her scowling._

_“Now now, Narcissa.” Sirius cajoled, his voice oozing with charm. “I thought I was your favorite cousin.”_

_Narcissa stared at her cousin, face impassive and unimpressed. But then, the corners of her lips tilted upwards just a little and the hint of a smile brightened her face significantly. Standing on the sidelines, James couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the exchange between the two cousins. Witnessing the exchange, James couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. Narcissa glanced at him and as if she suddenly remembered James’ presence, the smile that graced her features disappeared and a scowl replaced it._

_“I favor those who honors the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” reminded Narcissa. The sentiment of ‘so it’s not you’ was unspoken, but it was clearly in Narcissa’s tone. “Let’s not forget, Regulus is the only reason why I’m even here speaking to a blood traitor like you.”_

_Sirius, to his credit, didn’t even flinch at the statement nor did he flinch when Narcissa violently shoved his arm off of her. James bristled at Narcissa’s comment but with one look one Sirius, he bit his tongue and kept mum. Narcissa arched an eyebrow in that haughty manner of hers and crossed her arms, waiting expectantly._

_“Of course,” replied Sirius with a faint smile. “Thank you for coming to me about this.”_

_Sirius exchanged a few hushed heated words with James before the other boy nodded his head, solemn but very much angry. The scowl on his face only deepened when he glared at Narcissa, but he said nothing as he walked over her way towards the direction of the Gryffindor common room. Sirius watched his friend go with a slight panicked look on his face and Narcissa barely acknowledged the boy. That was, until he walked right past her with anger in his steps and hatred in his eyes._

_“Potter,” called out Narcissa._

_The boy in question stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around. His hands were clenched into fists. Sirius straightened his stance, looking like he was ready to interfere at a moment’s notice._

_“What?” James growled out._

_“What did I say about manners?” Narcissa asked without turning around to look at the boy in question, her voice sickeningly sweet to match the bright smile on her face. Her blue eyes, however, were hardened like steel. “Did your parents not teach you the proper way to greet your superiors?”_

_“Superior? **You**?”_

_“I am not the blood traitor here, now am I?”_

_“You—”_

_James turned around, a scathing remark on his tongue, but then he glanced over and saw Sirius looking on with an anxious worried expression on his face and whatever he wanted to say vanished. The silence between the three of them stretched. A moment later, James stomped over so that he was face to face with Narcissa, face red with rage._

_Narcissa let out a half-amused titter and stretched out her left hand, purposefully showing the signet ring on her middle finger. The silver ring, encased in diamonds and emeralds, was massive on the second year’s finger and intricately designed with the House of Black’s crest visible for all to see. James bit the inside of his cheeks and reached out for Narcissa’s hand, slowly bending down with eyes downcast. He stared at the ring for a moment and then, against his will, he lowered his lips to kiss Narcissa’s ring in reverence. His other hand, clasped behind his back, were clenched in a fist so tight his skin turned paler than ever before._

_“Aaah, so Lady Potter did teach her good-for-nothing son some pureblood etiquette.” Narcissa chuckled. “There’s hope for you ye—”_

_Suddenly, Narcissa’s voice faltered, her eyes widened, and she immediately jerked her hand back as if scorched. The skin on her hand, once pale with visible blue veins, was now pink and there was a distinctive bite mark right smack in the middle. Narcissa gaped at the sight, but before she could even say anything, James Potter regained his full height. Her eyes, narrowed to a seething glare, followed his movements up. He flashed her a grin full of sharp teeth and quickly scurried away._

_“That insolent bl—”_

_“Careful,” called out Sirius. His voice mocked Narcissa’s casual tone earlier and the wide grin on his face was almost identical to his friend’s, if not wider. “You should be nicer to him. Like it or not, he is a pureblood through and through and one day, you might have to marry him.”_

_“He’s in love with a mudblood.” Narcissa hissed, upper lip jerking with distaste. The girl brandished out her wand and quickly muttered a spell on her bitten hand. Satisfied with her handiwork, Narcissa looked back up and smiled at Sirius sweetly. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s not even qualified to be a contender.”_

_._

_._

_._

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“CUT!!”

As soon as the director called it, Clarke shook off her persona as Narcissa Black and immediately rushed off the set. She didn’t care that the make-up artists need to touch up her now rosy hands, she didn’t care that Murphy was calling her to come back, or that one of the costume designers was rushing towards her with intentions of fixing her attire—none of it mattered. There was only one thing on her mind.

“Bellamy Blake!”

Clarke’s shout was deafening in her anger and she avidly searched for the boy in the sea of artists and workers scrambling about. She spotted him a second after brushing past one of her hair stylists and she made a beeline for him. A twinge of pain ran up her ankle at the exertion but she didn’t stop until she was right in front of him. The boy turned to her with twinkling amused eyes and she had to muster all the willpower in her to not smack the smirk off his face. Was he seriously eating another muffin? Again?

For some reason, the muffin detail only angered her more.

“What the hell, Blake!” Clarke shouted, glancing back where the set was before turning back and shoving her stinging red hand in Bellamy’s face. “I mean seriously, what the actual hell. That was _very_ unprofessional of you!”

Bellamy simply stared at her, slowing biting into his muffin as if he knew that very detail irked her. A second later, a smirk graced his face and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Just trying to get you to use your acting chops, princess.”

“That wasn’t in the script, you jack ass!” Clarke gritted her teeth, close to fuming at Bellamy’s nonchalance. “I know you _think_ you’re all that, but your ego isn’t worth ruining a take.”

“I do _not_ have a big ego.” 

“You look like a person who ad-lib shit all th—”

“Language, princess.”

“Kiss my ass, jack ass!”

“Bellamy Blake! Clarke Griffin!”

Director Diyoza was immediately by their side and Clarke immediately straightened her posture, turning to look at the woman with trepidation. The tall bulky woman looked quite intimidating with her unamused glare and oh boy did she glare. For a moment, she wondered if the director and Anya were friends but the thought was immediately squashed as the director glared down at her some more. Apologies were ready to spill from her lips but before she could say anything, Bellamy beat her to it.

“Director.” Clarke could see that he had paled considerably, but Bellamy stood tall and his voice remained strong as he spoke to the director. “I am very sor—”

“Don’t you _Director_ me, boy.” Director Diyoza narrowed her eyes at Bellamy and whatever protests Bellamy had fell silent at her furrowed brows. “When you first got here, you were informed of some rules that you need to abide by in order to work with me. What rule did you break just now?”

Flustered, Bellamy fumbled a little with the answer and what came out was an awkward hodge-podge of words that didn’t make sense. Clarke could feel the second-hand embarrassment rushing through her and her face was as red as Bellamy’s, if not more. She did not dare even send a glance his way.

“No ad-libbing unless you’re famous.” Bellamy finally said with a wince.

Clarke’s eyes widened and she stared up at the director, now feeling very nervous herself. In the original script, James kissed Narcissa’s ring reverently and left. Mollified by James’ quiet acquiescence, Narcissa would divulge what she had learned about Regulus—sans spell work. Clarke had yelled Bellamy for ad-libbing, but she had done the same with her fake spell work on her hand. In her defense, she only did that because Mr. Ad-Lib Prince over there bit her hand. Surely the director wouldn’t fault her for that, would she? It wasn’t like she had control over it. 

“Are you famous?” Diyoza asked, the woman’s voice snapping Clarke out of her own worry.

“No, ma’am.” Bellamy replied curtly, gulping.

“Then why are you ad-libbing?”

Clarke’s arch-nemesis ran his fingers through his hair and settled them on the nape of his neck, rubbing it in a nervous manner. In some twisted way, she was very satisfied that he was getting in trouble for his arrogance. However, she also felt bad for the boy.

“It won’t happen again, director. I am extremely sorry for my slip up.”

Director Diyoza hummed, sounding completely nonchalant about the conversation. If not for her furrowed brows and the words they were exchanging, Clarke wouldn’t even know her arch-nemesis was even in trouble. 

“Good. Now let’s run it again, this time without the biting.”

Diyoza’s eyes swooped down to Clarke as she turned to go back to the camera and Clarke tensed up, waiting for the woman’s reprimand for her unauthorized ad-libbing. But the director said nothing and continued walking. Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and laughed nervously. She patted her chest to reassure herself that she was still alive after the encounter. Bellamy, who was clearly waiting for her to be reprimanded as well, scowled loudly when nothing of the sort happen.

“Hey Director!” Bellamy yelled out, catching the gazes of the crew and the director herself. “Griffin ad-libbed too, you know!”

Clarke inwardly let out a groan and threw the boy a glare. Oh my god, was he serious? Did Bellamy Blake really just drag her back into this situation that he himself created? And for what? She wanted to smack her arch-nemesis upside the head for his stupidity, but then Diyoza laughed and her attention snapped to the woman. Diyoza, despite her stern angry face, didn’t blow up in anger like everyone expected. She simply stared at Bellamy with an almost pitiful look and Clarke could hear Bellamy’s breath getting caught at the expression as if he knew what the director was going to say.

“She’s famous and you’re not.” Diyoza replied. “Now get back to work!”

Whatever Clarke thought the woman would say, it was definitely not _that_.

Clarke’s eyes immediately found Bellamy’s and she flinched at the anger that consumed his expression and reflected in his dark eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to cajole or to console him, but she couldn’t find any words. Bellamy tore his eyes away from hers, pushed his clenched fists into his pants’ pockets, and purposefully bumped her hard on the shoulder as he walked away.

“Don’t you just love nepotism, princess?” Bellamy snarled as he brushed past her.

Clarke winced at the tone in Bellamy’s voice and turned back to say something to him, but again, she couldn’t find the right words. What could she say? What excuse could she give? How would he even take it? Without knowing it, Diyoza’s statement had widened the riff between the two of them and she could just feel Bellamy’s hatred pouring off him as he sauntered away. His stance was rigid, his clenched fists were heavy by his side, and watching him walk away bothered Clarke more than it should. She should be happy about this, so why did it feel so awful?

What the hell. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote, re-wrote, re-wrote, and re-wrote this chapter so many times I am fed up with it. But I think it's now at a good spot and I hope you guys enjoy. 
> 
> It's a crazy world out there; stay safe, wash your hands, and be kind!

After her father’s death, things in Clarke’s life began to change and she absolutely hated everything it entailed.

At the beginning, the changes were so subtle she didn’t really notice them. Before, people would recognize her on the streets and greeted her with waves and casual ‘hey, your movie was great!’ greetings. But after her father’s death, people would come right up to her, grab her hands, and ask her for autographs more so than ever before. Interview requests and audition offers began to bombard Anya and her habit of being stuck to her phone only strengthened as she became more busy fielding calls at all hours of the day. Kids at her school were usually a snobbish bunch (came with the money), but her classmates started treating her more nicely and invited her to parties. 

At first, Clarke didn’t make the connection.

Clarke naively thought her performance in _Arabesque_ thoroughly impressed everyone. Directors, producers, fans, and her classmates loved her acting and they wanted more of her in any way possible. One could say that she had gotten arrogant, thinking that she was that important. But then her father’s name would come up multiple times during her preliminary reading of interview questions, her classmates suddenly wanted to visit her house, and before Clarke knew it, the truth hit her in the face. The people had a sick morbid fascination with her father and his death and it was… Well, she didn’t know how to feel about it.

Their fascination hurt in a way that Clarke couldn’t quite put into words.

On one hand, Jake Griffin was absolutely adored when he was alive and it was endearing to know that his works and existence inspired people near and far. It mattered that her father still meant something to them and the people’s love for him made her feel like he was still there. But on the other hand, it tore at her to know that whatever she did from here on out would be overshadowed by her father and his fame and fortune.

Any potential friends might want get closer to her because she was famous and now a millionaire. Any directors who requested her might be under the impression that she had the same acting abilities as her father. She could come close to surpassing him, sure. However, the people would never welcome her the same way they welcomed him. They would never love her the way they loved him. Not if some of the people had the same mentality as Bellamy Blake.

Jake Griffin built up his name from the ground up.

Clarke did not.  
_Clarke Griffin is famous because of nepotism,_ Bellamy Blake would say if anyone were to ask. She wouldn’t put it past him. She hated the very suggestion, but she knew he spoke the truth and it only made her hate him even more. Was the boy’s existence only there to make her feel like shit about herself? Sometimes, Clarke certainly thought so. The inadequacy she felt before her father’s death had only grown since then and Bellamy was doing his best to feed the embers. It took Clarke everything in her power to fend off a potential fire in her mind and escaping to school and seeing Wells every day was her only escape.

So of course, it made perfect sense that her mother put a stop to all of that as soon as possible.

 _Of course._

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Clarke asked. Instead of rushing out of the door to catch the bus to school, Clarke tightened her grasp on her backpack and turned to look at her mother. The entrance door stayed ajar. “Homeschool?”

Abigail Griffin stood by the entryway, looking very severe in her navy business suit, glasses, and coiffed hair. Her pursed lips spoke of her discontentment regarding the situation, but what else was new? For as long as Clarke could remember, her mother had always looked a bit severe. But today was more severe than usual. Maybe it was the pursed lips, the arms crossed over her chest, or the furor of her brows reflecting her emotions. Or maybe she just looked severe because she was worried about the aftermath of the fucking bombshell she just dropped.

“I can tell you don’t like the idea of that.” Her mother stated slowly as if speaking to one of her post-op morphine delirious patients. Clarke’s phone buzzed with several texts from Wells, but she dared not pull her attention away from her mother. “But I think this is the right choice, Clarke. The better choice. Please don’t fight me on this.”

“Don’t fight you?” Clarke barked out a laugh, suddenly feeling frazzled and frantic as her mother’s words sank in. “Mom, the bus is minutes away from the house, Wells is texting me right now probably asking me where I am, and you’re expecting me to not _fight_ you on this? Are you serious right now?”

“Clarke…” Her mother gave her a withering look and her pursed lips only got thinner as the two of them stared at each other. “I’m trying to make this easier on both of us. Like I said, you don’t need to go to school an—”

“You, of all people, should encourage me to get my education!”

“Do not interrupt me, Clarke.” Abigail said sternly, raising her voice to cut through her daughter’s complaint. “Whatever education you need will be provided by your tutors. I spent a lot of time interviewing them the last few weeks and I believe they will serve you well.”

“Whatever education I need can be provided by Meyers Academy.” Clarke stated plainly. Her mind was running hundreds of miles a minute as she tried to come off sounding like a sane logical teen instead of a spoiled brat. If she wanted to keep all she held dear, she needed to remain calm and reason with her mother. It was the only thing she could do. “Despite what you think, homeschooling is not the answer. I’ve been going to the academy for as long as I can remember. Think of all the teachers I have, the friends I love, the memories I made—would you make me give it all up?”

“You gave it up when you decided to follow your father’s footsteps.” Abigail replied, causing Clarke to narrow her eyes at her mother’s accusatory tone.

“What is that supp—”

“I made my decision and it is final.” Abigail interrupted with a click of her tongue and a furious look. Clarke bit the inside of her cheeks, biting down on all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t yet. “You’re welcome to try and go to school, but you won’t make it past the front doors.”

“Why are you doing this?” Clarke asked when her mother was done. She couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice and she desperately wished her mother couldn’t detect it even though tears were already blurring her vision. “School is the only place I feel norma—”

“I think given your father’s death and your new-found _fame_ , home schooling is the right choice at the moment. You won’t have to deal with the potential gossip, bullying, and brown-nosing.” Abigail’s eyes flickered with sadness for a moment before she let out a smile that looked too jovial for the situation at hand. Clarke watched with wariness as her mother’s expression changed. “Plus, homeschooling means I’ll get to see you more. I don’t go to work until ten o’clock and we can spend time together in the morning. Wouldn’t you like that?”

_Wouldn’t you like that?_

The question echoed in Clarke’s ears, mocking her as much as her mother’s fake laugh. She took a deep breath in and out, repeating the rhythm as she tried to control the emotions bombarding her at her mother’s derisive words. But it felt like everything was attacking her all at once and she wanted to scream. She wanted to scream in anger and in hurt, in frustration and in worry, in disgust and shame—she wanted to scream and cry her eyes out. But Clarke knew that even though her mother was right in front of her, she could not show her weakness. Her mother… She was right in front of her and the fact that Clarke could not bear to show weakness in front of her own god damn mother broke something inside of her. 

“You’re never home!” Clarke screamed out.

Abigail’s eyes went wide at her daughter’s sudden shout and she sputtered:

“Clarke, don’t raise yo—”

“You’re never home!” Clarke shrieked, raising her voice even louder despite her mother’s request. Her grip on the straps of her backpack was so tight, her knuckles were deathly white. “I wake up alone, I eat breakfast alone, I come home _alone!_ It’s been like that even before dad died so don’t stand there and tell me that we’ll be spending time together. We _never_ spend time together because you’re always fucking busy. Dad was a fucking A-list celebrity and he made time for me. Where were _you_? You we—”

Clarke’s voice got caught in her throat.

Whatever anger simmering inside of Clarke died down at her own question. She hadn’t meant to bring it up again, but now that she did, the question swirled around in her mind like scum on top of simmering broth. That was the age-old question, wasn’t it? Her mother had always been missing in action most of Clarke’s childhood. Even… even when Clarke needed her mother the most, she wasn’t there. She had to deal with the aftermath of the accident alone. She sat on that hospital bed alone. She had to hear the news of her father’s death _alone_.

Where was Abigail Griffin when her family needed her?

“Where were you the night of his death?” Clarke asked, voice unexpectedly calm despite the emotions gnawing at her throat.

Abigail’s breath faltered for a second and she took several steps back as if the question physically hurt her. The anguish reflected in her mother’s eyes made Clarke’s chest thrum with pain.

“Clarke, pleas—”

“Where _were_ you?”

“I can’t be—”

“ _Where_?”

Abigail Griffin sucked in a breath, as if suddenly realizing that Clarke wasn’t going to stop her questions, and straightened herself in an effort to look taller and more authoritative. It worked and Clarke watched her mother turn from a simpering heartbroken woman to an angry dictator within seconds. Clarke took a step back, her brain quickly working out ways to avoid whatever the fuck was going to happen soon. But whatever plans she was concocting in her head swirled with the reminder of her pleas to her father falling to deaf ears, her father dying on the operating table, and…

“My decision is final, Clarke.” Abigail stated, the threat in her mother’s voice bringing Clarke out of her whirlpool of thoughts. “Your tutors will be coming shortly. Until then, go to your room.”

“And if I don’t?” Clarke stared straight at her mother as she asked the question. She was gripping her backpack so hard, she was afraid it’ll fall apart if she let go. Or maybe it was keeping her attached. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure why she was holding on to her backpack so hard. All she knew was she needed an answer. To what, she wasn’t even sure anymore, but she needed it. “It’s not like you’re going to be home to enforce this shit.”

“Don’t forget you are still a minor.” Her mother threw her a pointed look. Clarke furrowed her brows and was about to ask why that even mattered, but her mother quickly answered her without prompting. “You can’t work without parental permission, Clarke. If you want to act and follow in your father’s footsteps, you will do as I say. Right now, I say go to your room and I’ll introduce you to your tutors later. Is that understood?”

Clarke bit the inside of her cheeks, refusing to acknowledge the woman in front of her or the commands she was spewing out. She couldn’t believe it. She could not believe what was happening. What the fuck was the woman hiding that she was willing to blackmail her own daughter to keep the secret? What the actual fuck. She looked into her mother’s eyes, desperately searching for some kind of answer to the situation at hand, but she got nothing.

“Is that understood?” Abigail repeated her question, her voice firmer this time around. Clarke bit her cheeks even harder. “Or should I call Director Diyoza and tell her you can’t work on _Marauders_ anymore? Maybe I should call Anya and fire her on the spot? What would you like me to do, Clarke?”

“I would like you to answer my questions,” muttered Clarke slowly. Clarke understood now. She understood why she was holding on to the straps of her backpack so hard. She had to or else her mother would see her trembling hands and realize how weak Clarke was. The weaker you are, the easier you are to manipulate. Was that what her mother was banking on? Clarke wasn’t sure, but if she was Clarke could not let her mother see it. “I would like you to be my mom and tell m—”

“I am being your mom and I’m telling you to go to your room.” Abigail threw her daughter a sad look and clicked her tongue in impatience. “Don’t fight me, Clarke. You won’t win. Now go to your room.”

Clarke didn’t say anything.

She kept her head down, her lips shut, and her frustrations inside as she made her way back to her room, sidestepping her mother’s reaching arms. Short of letting her go to school and answering her questions, there was nothing her mother could do that would ease the tight frustrating tension bubbling inside of her. The trek to her room was a quiet one, silent except for her own angry footsteps against the hardwood floors and Lily’s Theme signaling her phone ringing. Clarke didn’t pay attention to any of that. The only thing that ran through her mind and the only thing that really mattered in that moment was her anger. As soon as she reached her bedroom, she slammed the door closed and locked it shut against her mother.

Standing there pressed against the door in the silence, Clarke let out a scream that held no sound. Her chest felt tight, her throat even tighter, and her hands shook uncontrollably in front of her. It was as if all the emotions inside of her were trying to escape and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Did she even want to stop it? How could she? How could she do anything? She was fucking 14 years old and way out of her depth. Her father was gone, her mother was keeping secrets so sacred _blackmail_ was necessary, and there was nothing she could do but scream in silence.

So scream she did.

And when the screams stopped being effective and her emotions proved to be too much, Clarke fell down to her knees and slammed her fists against the hardwood floor. The pain was non-existent, but the relief was immediate and gratifying beyond her own comprehension. She slammed her fists on the hardwood floor again and again and again, reveling in her power and control of the situation. She couldn’t control what was happening to her mother, she couldn’t control what was happening to her life, but she could control this.

She _had_ to control this.

It was in that moment, at 14 and a half years old, that Clarke Griffin found an alternative form of stress relief.

Wells Jaha’s calls went unanswered.

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_._

_._

_._

_The ten-inch willow wand, ornate at the handle with intricate runic carvings for charm work, fell to the ground with a dull thud. Lily Evans tumbled to the ground immediately after, her hands slipping through the grass as she tried to right herself. Her hair swung through the air like a curtain of red and she turned around to glare at the girl who pushed her._

_Narcissa Black towered over the fallen muggle-born, the smirk on her face arrogant and cruel for someone so young. Her bright blonde locks seemed to glow in the sunlight and it was only dampened by the deep black and emerald_

_Narcissa Black towered over the fallen muggle-born, her bright blonde locks, pale skin, and emerald colors of her attire a soft contrast against Lily’s. The smirk on her face was arrogant befitting her status and she made sure Lily knew it._

_“Let me make one thing clear.” Narcissa said, twirling her dark red cherry wood wand between her fingers as she smiled lazily down at the glaring Lily. “You may think you’re the ‘brightest’ here Evans, but never forget that your blood is tainted. Your accomplishments? They mean **nothing** to our society and neither do you.”_

_Behind her, Narcissa’s entourage of three friends from Slytherin house let out a string of giggles that was reminiscent of cackling hyenas and the sound only reddened Lily’s face even more. Her bright green eyes glanced over to where her willow wand sat several feet away and silently cursed herself for letting go of her one and only defense. She made a move to pull herself up to her feet, but before she could move one inch, the tip of Narcissa’s cherry wand was aimed right at her face and stopped her in her tracks._

_With no one near, the panic in Lily’s eyes was palpable._

_._

_._

_._

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“CUT!” Director Diyoza shouted. “Everyone take a break, we’ll start the next part of the scene in an hour.”

Clarke shuddered out of her role as Narcissa and she quickly withdrew her delicate cherry wand from Raven’s face, immediately extending a hand out to help her co-star. The panicked fear in her eyes, created especially for one Lily Evans, cleared and a smile graced her features. She took Clarke’s offer and pulled herself up to her feet.

“Thanks!” Raven shook her head, chuckling quietly to herself. “You know, remind me to never mess with you. You look downright terrifying.” 

“Oh, stop it you.” Clarke laughed, rolling her eyes at the red head’s joke. “Have you looked in the mirror? You loo—”

“Clarke!” Raven gasped, her shocked face too exaggerated for the situation and Clarke laughed again. “Are you saying I have a resting bitch face?”

“Yeah, bitch you do.” 

It’s been only four days since Clarke started filming scenes with Raven Reyes, but the whole affair has been a real riot with the girl around. Raven was an incredibly talented actress with a personality that was both feisty and witty beyond compare. Even though the scenes between Narcissa and Lily were often tense with harsh words and barbed insults, Raven would change the mood as soon as the cameras stop rolling with her wry jokes. Clarke found the whole thing quite charming and she enjoyed the older girl’s company very much.

Talking amongst themselves, Clarke and Raven immediately made a beeline for the shade. They’ve been shooting under the bright sun the last hour and she didn’t know about Raven, but Clarke desperately needed the shade and a drink. Anything would do to relieve her parched mouth and heated skin. Three hours in the sun and she’ll look like a cooked lobster if she wasn’t careful.

“Raven! Clarke!”

A mid-thirties man of Asian descent walked towards them, a bright welcoming smile on his face. As soon as she saw the man, Clarke couldn’t help but stare. There was something about his jet-back hair gelled back in a David Beckham-inspired sort of way, his form fitting jeans emphasizing his lean muscular physique and… Well, needless to say he was very easy on the eyes.

“Mr. Shumway, hi!” Raven greeted when the man stopped in front of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Raven, nice to see you again. I hope you’re showing our new guest star the ropes.” Mr. Shumway chuckled, nodding to the redhead before turning his attention to Clarke. “You girls having a fun time?”

The sound of Mr. Shumway’s voice was more pleasant than expected and Clarke stuttered back a quiet incomprehensible answer that had her flushing in embarrassment.

“Of course.” Raven replied, shooting her a questionable look. Clarke could feel her face heating up even more under her friend’s penetrating gaze and gave the girl a halfhearted embarrassed shrug. Suddenly, as if an imaginary lightbulb flashed on top of Raven’s head, the girl grinned from ear to ear and swung her arm around Clarke’s shoulder to pull her closer. “We desperately needed more girl Slytherins on this show and Clarke is doing an awesome job, don’t you think? Please tell Director Diyoza we need to keep her. Seriously, please.”

“Raven, stop.” Clarke said, trying to reign her friend in as she battled with her mortifying embarrassment. “I’m sorry Mr. Shumway, but I don’t think—have I met you before? I do—”

“Oh! I am so sorry my dear, I should have introduced myself.” Mr. Shumway chuckled again, a bright happy sound that had Clarke fidgeting where she stood. “I’m Eugene Shumway, the head stunt coordinator for _Marauders_. Nice to meet you, Clarke.”

Mr. Shumway offered his hand. She stared at it for a moment, wary and hesitant, before she grabbed the extended hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet you.” Clarke smiled, trying to get rid of her nerves so she doesn’t sound like a babbling fool. “If you’re the head stunt coordinator, does that mean you’re Jennifer’s boss?”

“Aah yes, I am. I forgot you two are shooting that little stunt Jennifer coordinated later today.”

“Yes and you’re bothering our rest time,” pointed out Raven. The statement sounded reproachful, but the smile on Raven’s face was anything but. “So spill it out, what do you want from us? I would like to get the good snacks before they’re all gone.”

“My god, Jennifer told me you’re a handful but I never expected this much _this_ early in the conversation.” Raven blew a raspberry at Mr. Shumway and the man rolled his eyes, turning his attention to Clarke. “I heard they gave you the script for episode 30 today. I know your agent was briefed on the content, but did you get a chance to look at it yet?”

“I skimmed through it.” Clarke thought back to the script that was thrown at her this morning. In the limited time she had between getting on set and being pulled away for hair and make-up, she had processed very little. But luckily for Mr. Shumway, she knew the pivotal scene he was talking about. “You’re here about the… well, the reveal, right?”

“Yes. It’s going to be a fairly complicated and dangerous scene so we’re going to have a lot of meetings and practices. I need to know everyone’s schedules so I went ahead an—ah! Hey, guys! Over here!”

Clarke and Raven glanced behind them at the beckoning call to see John Murphy, Bellamy Blake, and Jasper Jordan walking towards them. It was obvious the trio had just left the makeup/costume tent because their hair and makeup were fixed to fit their characters, their Gryffindor robes fluttering in the breeze.

Murphy was twirling his prop wand around like a baton and watching him, Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if he was even acting when he played Sirius Black or if it was just Murphy’s own personality amped up to a million. Jasper was talking animatedly to Bellamy as they approached, looking as if he was trying to persuade his co-star of something. But the annoyed look on Bellamy’s face was indicative of his opinion on Jasper’s persuasive skills. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Bellamy turned his head and their eyes met. She looked away immediately.

“Well…” Raven clapped her hands together, bringing Clarke’s attention back to her. “Seems to me like I am not needed here so I’m out. See yah!”

Raven waved to the group and not so subtly winked at Clarke before she headed for the shade where the snack table was. Clarke felt the loss of her co-star’s friendly companionship almost immediately, but she shifted and turned to face Mr. Shumway as he addressed the group of four that now gathered in front of him.

“Thank you for coming guys and right on time too! Now, you all should have already received the script for episode 30. I know, I know. We’re not going to start filming that one for another month, that’s correct. But it is the season finale and it contains a very important fight between Sirius, Peter, and Narcissa. Choreography needs to be coordinated and who am I?”

“The head coordinator!” Jasper yelled out, earning the chuckles and laughs of everyone.

“Oh my god, you’re so embarrassing.” Murphy groaned. He made a move to rub his temples, but then stopped himself before he could mess with the make up on his face. “Will you shut up?”

“What, he asked.” Jasper retorted.

“That’s right,” continued Mr. Shumway. “I am the head stunt coordinator and I oversee everything. All I’m asking today is a complete breakdown of your schedules for the next month or two so I can set up rehearsals for you.”

“Mr. Shumway, I have a question.” Bellamy interrupted. Clarke inwardly rolled her eyes at the arrogant move and she desperately wanted to say something or maybe even smack him for his disrespect. “I read the script already and I don’t see why I have to be present? You know I have a lot on my plate and as far as I can see, I will be co—”

“Oh, will you be quiet?” Clarke snapped. For some reason, just the sound of his voice grated her every nerve and she couldn’t bear to hear it any longer. She could not. She _will_ not. Bellamy turned to look at her and she matched his gaze head on, ignoring the whispers around her. “You just said it, Blake. _As far as you can see_. You don’t know what the choreography even involves and you’re already making comments about it. How about you let the man finish?” She turned to the man in question. “Please continue, Mr. Shumway.”

Clarke could feel Bellamy’s eyes burning her skull in the silence that followed, but she remained resolute in her stance. He shouldn’t have interrupted the way he did. Mr. Shumway glanced between the two of them, clearly unsure what to make of the situation.

“Not everyone has the time to do nothing like you, princess.” Bellamy snarked out. “I happen to have a full schedule and I like to get paid to do meaningful work. But what was I expecting? You may have your father’s name, but you clearly don’t have his work ethic.”

Clarke immediately swiveled to face Bellamy.

The look he gave her was so predictable she couldn’t help but let out a scoff at the sight. Honestly from the first time they met, Bellamy’s attitude towards her has been nothing but antagonistic and she was sick of it. She was sick of hearing him complain about her wealth, her so called ‘fame’, and everything else he could possibly fault her for. She was sick of hearing his voice. Who did he think he was really, going around shitting on who she was as a person even though he himself had nothing to be proud of? Speaking of the internet’s favorite celebrity, she remembered reading something about his family life on Wikipedia the other day… Clarke let out a laugh and quirked an eyebrow at the glaring boy in front of her, arms crossed.

“Oh I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware beggars can be choosers.” Bellamy’s face turned red at her accusations, but she didn’t waver in her attack. She wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her and the look on his face, while full of rage, was not giving her the satisfaction she needed. “Your family needs the money, no? What does your mother do aga—”

“Don’t you bring my mother into this!”

“Guys, st—”

“You’re bringing in my fath—!”

“Guys, that’s enough!” Mr. Shumway interrupted, his eyes darting back and forth between Clarke and Bellamy. The reproach was unmistakable. “I don’t know what issue you guys have with each other, but knock it off. Am I clear?”

Under Mr. Shumway’s commanding gaze, Clarke felt her face flush and she nodded her head, mumbling her assent. Bellamy folded his arms across his chest and nodded as well. 

“Now to answer your question Mr. Blake, we have coordinated the choreography to the best of our abilities. However, things can change and they often do. JK Rowling herself might give us a call and tell us she had a sudden change of heart and want a different type of fight to play out for episode 30. It is the season finale after all and a big one at that. While you’re not fighting in this pivotal scene, you’re required to be on stand-by in case we need to make adjustments to the script and choreography. If you would like to express your concerns about your role, please feel free to speak to Director Diyoza. Does anyone else have questions?” No one spoke, afraid of Mr. Shumway’s reproach. “Good. Now, your availability please.”

One by one, Murphy, Jasper, and Bellamy all gave Mr. Shumway their schedules over the next several weeks.

Out of everyone there, Bellamy had the worst availability of the century and the details of his schedule reflected what Clarke had read about him. According to his Wikipedia page and various gossip columns and news article she read, Bellamy Blake auditioned for the role of James Potter in a desperate attempt to make money for his struggling family.

As a single mother, Aurora Blake was breaking her own back trying to take care of two kids whilst juggling several jobs. In order to ease the pressures off his mother’s shoulders, Bellamy applied for any job he could possibly qualify for. As fate would have it, they were holding auditions in the city where he lived and he landed the role effortlessly. The rest of it was history as one could say.

Due to the success of _Marauders’_ first season and the fact that three years have passed, Clarke had assumed Bellamy’s family finances had settled somewhat. But judging from the strict schedule he was keeping with job after job after job, it was clear her assumption was incorrect. As she listened to Bellamy list his cramped schedule full of tv interviews, commercial gigs, auditions, and rehearsals for other things, Clarke felt guilt wash over her. What was wrong with her? She had taken a jab at his family and their lack of money and for what? Petty revenge? To make herself feel better? Why was she such a—

“What about you, Clarke?” Mr. Shumway asked, snapping her out of her contemplation. Since her father’s death and her subsequent acceptance of Narcissa’s role, Anya had found Clarke some guest appearances on other shows and commercial gigs for skincare. She listed them for the coordinator. “What about school?”

Not expecting the question, Clarke tensed.

It’s been a month since her mother withdrew her from Meyers Academy. True to her word, her mother made the effort to interact with Clarke every day. If it had been a year ago, Clarke would have reveled in it and basked in her mother’s love—flourished, even. But things have changed since her father’s death and her mother’s efforts made no difference now. After all, her mother _did_ blackmail her own daughter for her own benefit and how could Clarke reconcile that with her mother’s claims of ‘I want the best for you’? Needless to say, school has been a very sore subject for Clarke and the fact that Mr. Shumway even mentioned it made her like him a little less.

“Why are you asking me about school?” Clarke asked apprehensively. Her hand reached up for the necklace Wells gave her, but her fingers found nothing. She had forgotten she took it off in for filming today and the lack of assurance from the necklace made her even more on edge. “You didn’t ask anyone else.”

“The main cast has a set schedule for school coordinated by Warner Bros themselves. I know their schedules, but I don’t know yours.” Clarke had half a mind to ask the man why he was even bothering with this meeting when a quick phone call to their respective agents would suffice, but she bit her lip to keep from spitting it out like Bellamy did. “I’m assuming you’re not available until the end of the day on weekdays?”

“Actually, no. I am…” Clarke paused, shifting uncomfortably where she stood. “I am home schooled. My schedule is very flexible.”

She could hear Bellamy snickering nearby and she gripped the collar of her shirt to curb the urge she had to turn around and smack the smile off his face. Hermione Granger had done that to Draco Malfoy in third year. She could surely do it to Bellamy Blake now. He was a bully just like Draco, wasn’t he? Whatever guilt she felt for snapping at him earlier disappeared along with the sympathy he had garnered. Now all she wanted to do was smack him.

Mr. Shumway either didn’t hear Blake’s mocking laughter or he chose to ignore it because he quickly jotted down the details she gave him. Within minutes, he was finished with his notes and bid the group farewell without so much as a reassuring smile. Clarke watched the man leave, feeling a bit disturbed at her previous assessment of the head stunt coordinator. Sure he was a handsome man, but he definitely turned out to be a dick.

“Really, princess?” Bellamy’s voice suddenly reached her ears, the disdainful mocking tone grinding her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. She closed her eyes to block out the sound and took a deep calming breath before she turned to face the boy. Bellamy stood there besides her, looking oh so smug with that smirk on his face. “Home schooling? Too good for us peasant folk, Clarke?”

“Stop it!” Clarke hissed out, feeling the frustrations building inside of her the longer she had to look at Bellamy’s ugly face. “If you have a problem with me, say it for god’s sake and stop targeting me.”

Jasper nodded at Clarke’s direction, looking both concerned and alarmed as he acknowledged her. He shifted awkwardly where he stood.

“She's right, ever—”

Bellamy let out a harsh scoff, effectively cutting off Jasper’s words with a single sound.

“I haven’t targeted anyone, least of all you, princess. I just don’t like the way you come in here acting like you’re all that and demand that people treat you well just because your father is famous and you have money. Flaunting yo—”

“I do not _flaunt_ , Bla—”

“Guys!”

Jasper’s pleas fell to deaf ears.

“Your awards? Your acting skills? Your home schooling? Making fun of my mom? Who the hell do you think you are, Clarke? What, you think just because you have more money than me you can give me shit because of it? You don’t get to judge me. You’re so entitled princess you don’t even fucking know it.”

Clarke spluttered in indignation, unable to put into words all the things she wanted to say. All she wanted to do was scream at him, but the words wouldn’t come out. She could only stare at the boy and the tears heating the corner of her eyes made the moment all the more stressful and humiliating. There he was yelling at her for being entitled because of her father’s celebrity status and judging him for his home life when he was doing the same thing to her. _He_ was judging _her_.

“You are such a hypocrite, Bellamy!” Clarke shouted, wiping at the tears that now streamed down her made-up face. The make-up team was going kill her after this, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to stare into Bellamy Blake’s eyes and tell him what she thought about his shitty attitude. “You’ve judged me from the very beginni—”

“I have no—”

“You heard _Griffin_ and your mind just snapped!” Clarke snapped her fingers for emphasis. “You heard my name, heard who my father was, and then you didn’t even care to learn the rest of who I am and what I am all about. Don’t you dare fucking stand there and tell me that I am entitled judgey little bitch when you are one too! At least I have my age as an excuse, what’s _yours_?”

Clarke gasped, desperately breathing in air that she had failed to take in during her emotional tirade. A hint of uncertainty flickered in Bellamy’s eyes as he stared at her face and she watched as he let out a breath he had been holding in. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself short. And then, suddenly, he reached a hand out towards her. The gesture was so disgusting—so vile in its mocking intention—that she felt repulsed by it.

She flinched away, taking a step back as she brushed her shaking fingers through her crunchy hair-sprayed locks in an effort to keep control. The seething anger that had been clear in Bellamy’s eyes was now murky with unease, but she didn’t have the time to revel in the conflicted emotions she saw there. She just told off Bellamy Blake. She felt like a fucking warrior after that speech and there was no way she was going to stop there. No freaking way. Murphy’s smirk and Jasper’s aghast expression only spurred her on.

“I don’t like you Bellamy, but I’ll be damned if I let you bully me for the rest of my time here.” Clarke declared with finality, finding the strength from somewhere deep inside of her. She might not have been able to control her school situation, but she would not let Bellamy fucking Blake ruin acting for her as well. “From now on, don’t talk to me unless it’s work related.”

A moment passed.

Then two.

Bellamy stepped forward on the third, invading her space and towering over her with his tall imposing figure. She could tell it was an intimidating tactic for the teenage boy and for a moment, she wondered if she should back away. But if Bellamy wanted to be intimidating, he sure chose the wrong place for it because there were other adults around who could see and reprimand him. He knew it too. That’s why he didn’t do anything besides invading her space.

“Or what?” He snarled, his breath tickling her face ever so slightly. 

If Clarke was being honest with herself, she didn’t think that far ahead. All she knew was she needed to tell the boy to fuck off and... Well… Wasn’t that what her mother did a month ago? She practically told her to fuck off with the questions by blackmailing her. Even though she had nothing to blackmail Bellamy with now, you know what they say; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And well, Clarke had a lot of apples under her privilege tree.

“Or I’ll use my ‘princess’ privileges to make your life here a living hell.”

Bellamy threw his head back and laughed out loud, trying to keep his air of nonchalance by brushing his fingers through his already messy hair. But she knew better. This close to his face, Clarke could see the simmering anger in his eyes as he turned his focus back on her and she was delighted at the hatred there.

“I’d like to see you try, princess.”

Clarke smirked and Bellamy’s eyes narrowed even further when he saw it.

“You’re on, Bellamy Blake.”

“I think you guys should kiss and have babies now,” stated someone.

Clarke recoiled at the mere suggestion and pulled herself back a few steps, turning to find Raven standing next to the snickering Jasper and Murphy. She had a bagel in one hand and her wand in the other, mindlessly munching on the bagel with amusement in her eyes as she stared at Clarke and Bellamy. When Raven caught her eyes, the girl wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and Clarke didn’t know how it happened or why, but suddenly everything righted itself. All the turmoil and tension inside of Clarke rushed out of her with her friend’s inappropriate and ill-timed joke and she couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing.

A second later, Jasper joined her with a howl of laughter.

“Good one, Raven.” Jasper wiped tears from the corner of his eyes. “That was so funny.”

“Dude, you’re ruining it.” Murphy remarked, punching Jasper’s arm for effect.

Clarke smiled at the exchange.

“Shut up, guys.” Bellamy mumbled, running his fingers through his hair again. He was now more than an arm’s length away from Clarke, but she could see color blooming on his face as he avoided her eyes. Clarke frowned at the weird detail. “It’s not funny.”

“Don’t bully my new friend and I won’t make fun of you.” Raven stated with a quirk of her sharp eyebrow. “Got it?”

“Then tell her no—”

“Bellamy, shut up. Diyoza wants to talk to you.” Jasper said.

Everyone stared at Jasper, not sure whether he was telling the truth or not.

“Are you for real or are you just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, seriously. She’s wa—”

“Bellamy Blake!” Director Diyoza’s voice called out from behind them. A brief glance over and Clarke could see the director lifting her signature red and gold megaphone to her lips. Clarke braced herself for the loud shout and it did not disappoint. “Get your butt over here! Jasper, Murphy, you too!”

“Shit,” mumbled Bellamy.

The three Marauders exchanged glances with each other and in unison, the three of them turned their focus on Raven and Clarke.

“Lady Diyoza beckons,” waved Murphy. He gave Clarke a wink and went dashing to where the director stood waiting.

“Murphy, wait for me!” Jasper yelled out. Afraid to be left behind, Jasper bid the ladies farewell before running after Murphy, yelling his name the entire time. 

“I… I gotta go.” Bellamy glanced at Clarke and Raven, nervously running his fingers through his combed hair again, and waved awkwardly. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Clarke moved out of the way when Bellamy walked by her, ignoring the way his gaze lingered on hers for a split second before hurrying away with nervous tension. As she approached Raven, she couldn’t help but wonder why her chest constricted sharply at the sight of Bellamy. Why did he look at her like that? Why did Director Diyoza call him first? Was he in trouble? And if so, was it because of her? No, she convinced herself. Bellamy Blake was a bully and she could not feel bad for him. He certainly had no qualms about hurting her feelings so why should she?

“What did I tell you?” Raven asked, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. It’s only been a few days, but she could tell this gesture was one of Raven’s signature moves.

“What did you tell me?” Clarke eyed the girl warily.

“I told you you look downright terrifying.”

Clarke stared at Raven for a moment. The grin on Raven’s face turned into a full out laugh and Clarke’s lip twitched, turning upwards.

“Oh shut it, you.” Clarke laughed, pushing her co-star’s arm away teasingly. “You seriously went to the snack table and didn’t get me anything?”

“Clarke, babe, these robes do not have pockets.” Raven grabbed Clarke’s hand and pulled her towards the direction of the snack table. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat and drink before the sun kills us.”

The conversation about Clarke looking ‘downright terrifying’ continued on as the two of them made their way out of the sun. It was this conversation and her emotional word vomit on Bellamy that made her contemplate the sacrifices she was making choosing her possible career of an actress over having a normal life at Myers Academy. 

Home schooling was ‘downright terrifying’, but if she could have moments like this with co-workers like Raven, then it’ll be worth it.

“ _I love it, dad_.” Clarke had told her father when she was 10 years old. “ _It’s awesome and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I want to be like you one day, adored by all and known as the best._ ”

Nothing has changed in that regard.

Bellamy Blake will not stop her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I don't have to say that it's a crazy world out there. I'm sure you all know it. 
> 
> Just make sure you guys are staying safe, okay? Wash your hands, wear a mask, save a life. <3 Be safe!

The calm that followed in the aftermath of Clarke’s threat was unexpectedly that—calm. 

As though he had been thoroughly chastised, Bellamy Blake was cordial to her the last several times they had to interact. No cut throat words, accusatory tones, or harsh jabs came from him. It was completely out of character for the boy and the calm amicable façade he portrayed made Clarke’s hairs stand on ends. As such, Clarke went through her days expecting a pin to drop, a controlled anger to snap, for nefarious plans to fall into all the right places. She was on edge every time she went on set.

Finally, on the third Saturday of near constant complaints from Clarke, Wells Jaha had enough.

“You’re buying desserts for the group, right?” Wells asked over the phone.

“Yeah, we’re on our way to Picasso’s now.” Clarke glanced out her window, watching as cars and trees pass by. For a Saturday morning at 5am, there were a lot of cars on the road. “Why?”

“I think you should spit in his food.”

“What!” She asked. It was such an unexpected statement that Clarke ended up spluttering out a laugh. On the other line, she could hear Wells’ chuckle. “And why would I do that?”

“Clarke, you know you want to.” Wells replied as if the statement held all the answers. His voice was scratchy and muffled give the early morning hour and Clarke couldn’t help but smile fondly at the thought of her best friend. He was probably tucked in his soft warm comforter, undoubtedly all warm and cozy as he whispered into the cell phone propped up by the headboard. The image was heart-warming. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“About spitting in his food? No, that’s disgusting.”

She could almost hear Wells rolling his eyes from where she sat. 

“No, about messing with him. You know, I’ve known you for a long time. Some say, a bit too long. If it was some other guy, you would totally kick up a storm and probably kick him in the balls.”

“Wells, that was one time!”

“You’re a girl so you don’t know, but getting kicked in the balls once is one time too many.” Wells audibly shuddered as he undoubtedly remembered the nightmare incident back in 6th grade. “Come on, you’ve been weirdly nice about Bellamy.”

“I’m sorry, did you say ni—”

“Do you have a crush on him or something?”

“The day I have a crush on him is the day I let you burn my 1st edition Harry Potter books. Which is to say, **never**!” Clarke paused, fingering a hole she found at the bottom of her shirt as a distraction. “You might not believe this, but I’ve been pretty busy okay? My father died, I got new tutors that I _hate_ , my career is taking off—you know, adult stuff. I don’t have time to concoct nefarious plans to take down Bellamy Blake. I thought that was your job.”

“What? When did that happen?”

“Uh hello? You started this whole Death to Blake the Mistake shindig, remember?”

“Yeah and?”

“And! And!” Clarke huffed. “I’m out here on the front lines risking my life to execute _your_ plan to overthrow him and all I hear from you is criticism after criticism. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Hey, I helped you too you know!”

“Oh please, all you did was read scripts and fanfics. My acting got us here and don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t forget.” Wells paused and the moment of silence had Clarke wondering what in the world her best friend was thinking about. Then, he lowered his voice to a mere whisper and said: “In fact, I dare say your acting will get us through phase 2 of Death to Blake the Mistake.”

Clarke didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry: laugh because Wells had already planned out phase 2 or cry because her best friend was so stupid and lovely. Maybe a bit of both. She slumped further into her seat at the thought, a smile on her face.

“Do I even want to know what phase 2 is?”

“Clarke, how could you?” Wells let out a loud scandalized gasp. The warmth but menacing quality to Wells’ voice soothed her and she rested her head against the window of the car as she listened to him. “Phase 2 is to make his life a living hell. Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but disparaging words are not doing the job. We need to up the ante or else I’ll grow old by the time he quits.”

“You’re 14!”

“An adult, according to you.”

“So in that brilliant plan of yours, spitting in his food is the first step to initiating this so called phase 2?”

“It’s not ‘so-called’. It’s just called.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make sense.” Before Clarke could retort, Wells clicked his tongue. “Well, what do you say? Are you ready to accept phase 2?”

Clarke shook her head. She couldn’t believe Wells had so much energy this early in the morning to concoct nefarious plans to take down the Marauder King without missing a beat. If only his mind was that focused and sharp during math class, he wouldn’t be failing it this semester.

But just because Wells’ math grades sucked doesn’t mean his logic sucked. Her best friend was right. Why was she just taking all this shit Bellamy’s been throwing her? Why was she walking around like there were egg shells everywhere, waiting for something to happen? The question was something she could not find an answer to no matter how hard she tried. The only thing she did know with clarity was she couldn’t do this any longer. She needed to go on the offense, like Wells said.

In this war, her tactician was never wrong.

Spitting in Bellamy’s food though…

“I am willing to take on the challenge of phase 2.” Clarke stated with a laugh, leaning her head back against the cold window and closing her eyes to focus on her best friend’s voice. “But this is what we’re going to do instead…”

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

.

.

.

_“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Lily asked, her voice trembling with rage as she stared at the bully in front of her. “How would you ever know what it feels like to be less than? How can you compare your suffering to mine, you despotic dimwitted degenerate!”_

_“You think I don’t know how this feels?!” James shouted back, swiveling to face the redheaded muggle-born girl in his anger. His unruly black hair fluttered with the motion, highlighting the array of emotions clearly written all over his face. The torchlights flickering behind him casted a dark shadow over his features, indicating the darkness of his words. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel less than? That things just roll off my back like I have an **impervius** spell on me? Lily Evans, you’re the brightest witch of your age! Why are you making such asinine assumptions? I thought you knew better.”_

_Lily opened her lips, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but she suddenly stopped herself as James’ words began processing through her mind. Confusion distorted her face and she blinked her bright green eyes, the creases of her frown deepening the longer she stared at James._

_“Potter, you think I’m the brightest witch of my age?” She asked, her tone coloring her shock._

_Whatever turmoil floating around James’ person suddenly disappeared at the posed question and he rolled his eyes in an exasperated way. He leaned back against the stone wall, staring at the girl he fancied with complete adoration in his eyes._

_“I compliment you all the time and you know it.”_

_“Are backhanded compliments considered compliments?”_

.

.

.

| 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |

Clarke knew he was talented the moment she watched season 1 episode 19 of _The Marauders_.

The amount of emotions Bellamy Blake exuded from his well-made up pores gave him the nomination for Leading Youth Artist at the Young Artists’ Award that year. Of course, post-production helped with making the scene jerk her emotions back and forth, but one cannot deny he had talent. Watching him work his magic for the cameras now only further solidified that knowledge. The fond puppy love that poured from his James Potter persona was sickening to look at, especially knowing how dark and bitter the actual actor was.

Heck, Bellamy Blake could definitely give a stellar performance as Severus Snape and he wouldn’t even have to try.

“Did you give it to some intern?” Anya asked. 

The question snapped Clarke out of her staring and she turned to look at her agent. The two of them were standing behind one of the makeshift tables near the set trying to distribute snacks and coffee Clarke had bought for the crew. More specifically, Clarke was pouring and giving out hot coffee and tea to workers who passed by. Anya was _supposed_ to help distribute the desserts, but the agent was clearly above all of that as she hurriedly typed away on her phone.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” replied Clarke.

Anya pulled her attention away from her phone for one second, glanced at Bellamy on set, and then back at Clarke again. The lack of expression on the woman’s face was distinctively her style, but the amused look in her eyes was far too knowing for Clarke’s liking.

Shit.

What was that look all about? Wells and Clarke tried to be inconspicuous in their planning, but clearly Anya knew what was up if that look was anything to go by. The woman was too perceptive for her own good. Clarke studied the woman, trying to figure her out but the woman’s aloofness proved to be too hard to read. Did she know? If she did, was she angry or amused? Was Clarke on the verge of getting in trouble? She couldn’t tell. And how the hell did she even figure it out?

“Do you need help?” Anya asked after glancing around to make sure no one was near. “I can bully some intern to give him the drink.”

Ah, so Anya did know. 

Keeping mum, Clarke turned to watch as Bellamy and Raven listened to Director Diyoza’s instructions and contemplated Anya’s offer to help. It was a tempting one, to be sure.

Wells and Clarke both knew that if they were going to prank Bellamy, they had to be careful about it. The fact that Bellamy and Clarke didn’t get along was no secret, so if anything happened to him everyone would suspect her of foul play. After the initial ‘spit in his food’ plan, Wells suggested bribing someone from one of the more obscure departments to bring Bellamy coffee in exchange for signed autographs and whatnot.

Clarke shot that idea down immediately. The whole thing felt too… underhanded. If she was going to exert all this effort to trick Blake the Mistake into drinking coffee flavored with an ungodly amount of salt, why would she hide it behind some poor soul? Clarke wanted him to know it was her. She wanted him to feel the outrage, but not have any way to proof it. Thus, the plan they’re implemented today, two weeks after the initial suggestion, was born.

But if Anya was involved, then everyone’s eyes will be off of Clarke. After all, there were overeager agents out there who would be willing to do anything to make sure their star came out on top. Anya wasn’t that type of agent, but no one knew that, did they? And even if Bellamy suspected her, threw accusations around, it’ll eventually get him nowhere. People could always blame the agent. 

With that thought in mind, Clarke fully turned her body to face Anya. As if she had been waiting for Clarke to make a decision, the agent quickly put her phone away and looked at her with one inquisitive but all-knowing eyebrow quirked upwards. It was like Anya’s eyebrow (and by extension Anya) was taunting her, daring her to say what was on the tip of her tongue. Well, her agent didn’t have to dare her. She knew what she was getting into and she was ready. Clarke cleared her throat and steeled herself as she whispered:

“I want you to deliver him the coffee, Anya.”

For a second. Anya’s lack of reaction had Clarke worried. But then the corner of her lips curved up slightly, all twisted with amusement, and Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding in. 

“Now we’re going somewhere.”

Clarke laughed, relieved at her plan met Anya’s approval. If something goes wrong with the prank, at least she could tell Director Diyoza an adult approved of it. Was it wrong for Clarke to use Anya in this way? Her heart said yes, but judging from the look on her agent’s face, the woman didn’t seem to mind. 

“Don’t forget to tell him the Griffins send their regards.”

Anya barked out a laugh.

“Is this why you’ve been saying that phrase to everyone you give coffee to?”

“I plead the fifth.” Anya mumbled under her breath, something about ‘god save us all’, and Clarke had to bit her lips to keep herself from laughing. “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“Tell me what to do and I’ll make this thing happen.”

This time, it was Clarke who smiled with an all-knowing look in her eyes.

“Oh Anya, that’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to do anything.”

If Anya was confused about Clarke’s comment, she didn’t show it. But before the two of them could continue their conversations, one of the costume designers came over and that was the end of that. As if a second group of workers were just clocking, a steady flow of people came through the line and the two of them busied themselves handing out coffee and sweets. It felt wonderful to be able to show her appreciation to those who work behind the screen to make the show what it was. It was a lot of work, but she was having fun talking to the workers that for a moment she forgot what she came here to do.

Until she glimpsed Bellamy down the line, queueing up for coffee and desserts like the rest of them. All of the plans she had discussed with Wells came to the forefront of her mind and she subtly took a deep breath to gather her courage. Alright, they painstakingly covered all possible angles and scenarios in an effort to make the plan go as smoothly as can be. They both knew it was all in the timing, but that so called timing really depended on two people. She had the subject in her line of sight two people down the queue, but where was the unknowing co-conspirator they had roped into helping?

“Clarke!” Raven’s loud shout came right on time.

Clarke snapped to attention and she looked over to where Raven was waving her down several yards away. The girl was daintily munching on slices of apple, being careful not to mess with her hair and makeup. Clarke smiled at the girl and waved back, but whatever greeting she wanted to shout out was interrupted when her field of vision was blocked by jarring yellow and red colors of Gryffindor.

“Is that coffee or tea?” Bellamy Blake dared to ask, eyebrows raised.

Clarke glanced down at the three carafes on the table by her side and rolled her eyes at the lack of observation from the boy. The carafes were clearly marked tea, coffee, and decaf. Either he couldn’t fucking read or he was mocking her. Either way, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to talk to her and he knew it. The question only served to irk her and it served its purpose. She made a face at the boy to indicate her dislike for his very presence, picked up the carafe marked coffee, and placed it underneath the table with the rest of the empty coffee carafes.

“Clarke!” Raven called again, her voice more urgent this time.

“I’ll be right there!” Clarke shouted back to the girl before turning to Anya who was handing some costume designer a matcha cream puff. “Anya, Raven is calling me. I have to go.”

“But what about the drinks?” Anya asked, quickly shooing the costume designer away to turn her attention to Clarke. She glanced at the line of people behind Bellamy and then back at her, frustration clear on her face. “Who is going to help me?”

“I’ll be right back, I just need to see what Raven needs. There’s some coffee by your feet. It should be clearly marked.” Clarke put a hand on Anya’s arm to reassure the woman, making sure to apply pressure at the end of her statement in the only way she could. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if Anya got her implied message. But then the woman let out an exasperated sigh and quickly nodded her head. Hopefully, her gesture meant what Clarke thought it meant.

“Fine!” Anya clicked her tongue and brushed Clarke’s hand away with annoyed exasperation. “Get out of here, you good for nothing punk.”

Clarke laughed at the jibe, quickly removing and throwing away her used gloves before turning to the small queue of people waiting for coffee and desserts. With a bright smile on her face, she saluted the crowd and bowed her head in appreciation to the staff. Bellamy stood to the side, still waiting for his coffee with hand outstretched. The dour glower he threw at her was hard to ignore, but she did anyway. Who the hell told him to talk to her? They were on a strict work-only diet.

“Enjoy your coffee and snacks, everyone.” She said to them, completely disregarding Bellamy. “The Griffins send their regards.”

Like expected, the intended Game of Thrones reference got chuckles out of the people in the crowd and Clarke left them happy and laughing. She quickly rushed away from the table towards Raven, heart thumping loudly in her chest. Everything within her told Clarke she needed to turn around and make sure Anya got the right carafe of coffee for one douche canoe. But she did not. She had to trust the plan, even if the plan was all about timing and chance. She _had_ to trust the plan.

“Hey you!” Clarke smiled at Raven as she neared. “Thanks for calling me. You’re a life saver.”

“You’re welcome. I know how explosive you guys can get. To preserve the peace of this team, I will help mitigate it however I can.” Raven chuckled, thumping a fist against her chest and looking out into the distance like a superhero in a movie poster. “It’s quite noble of you, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh don’t be so modest, Clarke.” Raven stopped munching on her apple slices for a second to put her thoughts into words. “Considering Bellamy is the bully and he needs to be taken down a notch, you soliciting my help to avoid confrontation with him is very mature of you. I would have pummeled him to death.”

Clarke threw her head back and laughed. Oh god, if only Raven knew. It wouldn’t do for Raven to know that Clarke specifically asked the girl to call her away from her coffee spot when Bellamy neared because of the plans she had set into motion. Raven couldn’t know what her role was in all of this. No, it would not do at all. Not wanting to discuss the topic, Clarke glanced around to look for Director Diyoza and returned her attention to Raven.

“You were amazing out there. How do you feel after that loaded scene?”

“Clarke, I am so exhausted you don’t even want to know. You would think that since the war isn’t coming until year 5 or 6, they would chill the hell out with the angst. But god damn!”

Clearly more frustrated than her voice conveyed, Raven let out a groan of pent up anger and made a move to run her fingers through her hair. But before she could, Clarke shouted out a vehement ‘no, don’t!’ At the exclamation, Raven halted in her tracks. She glanced at her outstretched hand, ready to mess with her perfectly coiffed well made up hair, and then turned to look at Clarke with wide eyes. The two of them didn’t say anything for a second, basking in the relief that came from having prevented a tragic accident, and then burst out laughing.

“Oh man, can you imagine how dead I would be if I messed up my hair?”

“Haha, I know. The first day I was he—”

Whatever Clarke wanted to say was drowned out by a sudden but violent retch coming from the direction of the snack table. _This is it_ , thought Clarke. Schooling her features, Clarke furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and turned around to look at the spectacle waiting for her.

Bellamy Blake was, like intended, cursing his head off as he spat out the coffee into his now empty cup. Some spots of coffee had gotten on his school uniform and upon further inspection, Clarke could see a pool of the coffee making a disgusting puddle on the floor. 

“What happened?” Raven questioned in a murmur.

Clarke shrugged her shoulders, feigning ignorance to the whole ordeal like Raven and the others around her. But in truth, she knew what happened. In truth, the eight cups of salt she had poured into that specific carafe earlier this morning had done its job well, marring the taste buds of her arch-nemesis and fouling his day. The look of pure utter disgust on his face was enough to let her know eight cups of salt weren’t an overkill. In fact, she was regretting not adding more considering the reaction she was getting from the boy wasn’t as extreme as she thought. She wanted to see him suffer and while the look on his face was satisfying in and of itself, she thought it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough…

“What’s wrong with you?” Clarke could hear Anya ask. The woman should get an award for how in character the question was. “I’ve ne—”

“What the hell!” Bellamy hissed, coughing up a lung as he frantically looked around. When his eyes landed on the empty cup in Anya’s hand, he immediately grabbed it, poured some tea, and downed the drink within seconds. The alleviation from the salt was so comforting Bellamy’s tense shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh of relief. “Why the hell is this coffee so salty?”

Around him, members of the staff still in queue waiting for desserts and coffee murmured and whispered amongst themselves. 

“What are you talking about?” Anya asked, looking at the alien thing that was the ‘salty’ coffee carafe. “It’s just coffee.”

“Anya, th—”

“Ms. Warren to y—”

“Ms. Warren,” corrected Bellamy with a frustrated scoff. “I don’t know what the hell happened, but that thing is ridiculously loaded with salt. Did you and Clarke taste this beforehand? It’s so sal—”

“Now Bellamy,” stated Anya. She clicked her tongue, showing her disappointment with a subtle shake of her head as she slowly deliberated on what to say. Finally, she settled on: “I know you and Clarke have your differences, but I didn’t think you would suggest something so—”

“What!” Bellamy shouted, clearly caught off guard by the insinuation. “I’m not suggesting anything. Just try the coffee and you’ll know I’m right! It’s like someone dumped a whole thing of salt in here! Did you and Clarke try it be—wait a minute… **Clarke Griffin**!”

Clarke quietly let out a gasp of surprise at being called out so loudly, immediately tensing up as Bellamy stomped his way over in her direction. Behind her, Raven stepped forward and pressed a hand on Clarke’s arm, her bright green eyes boring into Clarke’s blue ones in a silent question. She didn’t have to say anything for Clarke to know what that question was. _Did you do it?_ Even as the guilt slowly ate away at her, Clarke shook her head no and Raven rolled her eyes in annoyance. Emboldened by the knowledge that Raven was by her side (wrongfully, but still), Clarke took a deep breath and focused on facing the menace that was Bellamy Blake.

“Clarke Griffin, you did this!” Bellamy shouted. As soon as he got closer, the pungent odor of his cologne wafted by and she wrinkled her nose at the smell. But clearly that was the wrong thing to do because if anything, Bellamy’s ugly face got redder at whatever insinuation he thought she was trying to say. “What the hell did you do to my coffee?”

“What are you talking about? _Your_ coffee?” Clarke shouted right back. “I bought that coffee for the staff!”

“But you did something to it!” Bellamy’s ugly face contorted even further into grotesqueness at the mere mention of the coffee, cringing at the undoubtedly horrible aftertaste. “I know you did!”

“Based on what?” Clarke asked.

“Don’t start accusing people without proof, Bellamy.” Raven said, cutting in and gently pulling Clarke away from the approaching leader of _The Marauders_. “And back off.”

“Mind your business, Raven. This has nothing to do with you.” Bellamy sneered at Raven before zeroing in on Clarke one again. But he didn’t have a chance to even say anything before Raven grabbed his arm and forced him to face her again. “Raven, let me g—”

“This _is_ my business,” stated Raven with a forceful tone. She flashed Bellamy a warning glare before she let go of his arm to pull it back to her side. “You’re ruining the camaraderie between everyone here because of your hatred for Clarke and I’m done dealing with your shit. She has done nothing to you and you’ve been a right menace from the start. I don’t think it’s fair. Stop it.”

“She put salt in my coffee! I _know_ she did.” Bellamy hissed, glancing between Clarke and Raven and then back to Clarke. She tried not to flinch as she stared at him head on. “Like it or not princess, you and I have a history an—”

“A bad one,” pointed out Clarke.

“—and if you think people aren’t going to get suspicious when I suddenly get salt in my coffee, you’re wrong.”

Even though Clarke knew she was at fault, the very fact that Bellamy Blake dared to accuse her of wrongdoing despite having no evidence was frustratingly annoying. Who did he think he was? Did he think her whole life revolved around making him feel inferior? If anything, it was the other way around! Clarke threw a glance at Raven to tell her it was okay before she took a step forward and got right in Bellamy’s face, fists clenched at her sides. On the one hand, it was to keep herself under control. But on the other hand, it was also for show. She had to put on a show for Raven and everyone who might be watching.

“You’re right, Bellamy.” Clarke conceded slowly, watching the numerous emotions flickering in the depths of the boy’s dark eyes at her words. “We do have a history and it’s all because of you. I’ve only been here for what? Four months? And yet you already made an enemy out of me. Who knows how many people you’ve pissed off with your attitude since you became famous. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone here hates your guts as much as I do and pulled a stunt like that. But it definitely wasn’t me if that’s what you’re getting at. Though, if you _are_ asking my opinion, I think you are a bully and deserve whatever it is coming your way.”

At her side, Raven stifled a laugh but quickly controlled her emotions when Bellamy glared at her. A second later, his focus was back on Clarke with full force. She tried not to flinch away at the boy’s glare, but she would be lying to herself if she didn’t feel the flicker of fear that ran through her body as his eyes bore down on her. 

“Is that a threat?” Bellamy asked intently.

Clarke clenched her jaw, staring up at the boy who thought himself special. But he wasn’t, was he? He was all bark and no bite, that Bellamy Blake. He had nothing on her and he knew it. The knowledge made her smirk, but only for a quick second—just enough to make sure that he saw it. If this stunt she just pulled had a goal, it was to fuck with his mind and the look on his face now was enough to let her know she achieved it. She didn’t need to say anything. _He knew._ As soon as he spotted her smirk, his eyes widened comically and he opened his mouth to say something but someone else beat him to it.

“Bellamy, you have no proof that Clarke did this, do you?” Raven said evenly, arching an eyebrow at the pregnant pause between the three of them. “So until you give some kind of proof that Clarke did this… Back the fuck off, you got it?”

Clarke, to her credit, barely flinched at the determination she heard in Raven’s voice. Outwardly, her face betrayed nothing. Yet inwardly, her guilt dug itself deeper into her heart as Raven stood there and defended her honor. But she couldn’t think like that. No matter how much the guilt ate at her, she had to remember that Bellamy Blake deserved all the heat that he was getting. She had to remember that. For the sake of the plan, for the sake of her sanity, she had to remember that it’ll do her no good if she started feeling guilty now. She must follow through.

With that mantra in mind, Clarke slowly nodded her head in agreement with Raven.

“Whose side are you on, Raven?” Bellamy accused after a moment. He looked around to see if anyone was looking and watching their exchange, but thinking this argument was child’s play, no one really paid attention. Not anyone that mattered. Emboldened by the fact, Bellamy straightened his stance to make himself look more superior than he was and glared down at his redheaded co-star. “I thought we were a team, you and I. And yet you’re defending an outsider?”

Clearly not expecting the personal question, Raven sputtered for a second.

“We were.” She looked around anxiously as she tried to get out the right words. “I _am_ your friend, I _am_ a part of your team, and I want to believe you, Bellamy. But you got high off your fame and became a—I—you became a—”

Raven turned to Clarke for help.

“A douche canoe,” was the first suggestion that came to Clarke’s mind.

“You became a douche canoe!” Raven finished.

When she realized what she had just called Bellamy, she gave Clarke a withering glare. Clarke shrugged her shoulders, giving her a bewildered look of helplessness. Bellamy watched at the exchange between the two girls, eyes narrowed with so much anger Clarke thought he might pop a blood vessel at the tender age of sixteen, and let out a disgusted scoff. The hatred rolled off Bellamy in waves and he barely gave the two of them another glance before he turned and walked away in a huff. 

Clarke and Raven watched the boy go, pawing at his now dirty coffee stained uniform. Clarke knew the reprimand he was going to get from the Costumes Department wasn’t going to be a pretty one and she was glad that it wasn’t her. She inwardly winced and whispered a ‘dodged that bullet’ under her breath, turning around to say something to Raven. But the inquisitive look on the girl’s face, sporting the same furrowed eyebrows as Anya with the suspicious narrowing of her eyes, stopped Clarke from saying anything.

“Tell me you didn’t,” pleaded Raven. The girl glanced at Bellamy’s direction and then back at Clarke. “Did you?”

A part of Clarke wanted to shout ‘it’s a bit late to ask that question, Ray Ray’ but she refrained. Instead, she made a loud indignant noise and frowned at the question.

“Of course I didn’t,” replied Clarke with a shook of her head. “I’m trying to avoid confrontation here, not start it.”

Raven’s narrowed eyes didn’t let up and Clarke tried her hardest to keep her face devoid of the emotions bouncing off the walls of her skin at that moment. She knew it was a juvenile thing to do pranking Bellamy Blake of all people, but it had to be done. Like Raven said, the douchebag deserved to be taken down a notch. King of Douchebaggery Murphy knew it. Raven knew it. Heck, even Anya knew it.

It didn’t mean Clarke couldn’t get in trouble for it though. She was definitely nervous about that. Could Raven detect it somehow? Did Wells’ plan and Clarke’s acting fail her at the most critical moment? Was that why she asked the question? Clarke knew the consequences of being discovered was terrible, to be sure. And yet… Even though Raven might have an inkling on Clarke’s part in the ‘salt in the coffee’ incident, the fact that Raven couldn’t say anything was… exciting. It made her feel powerful in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

This…

This was the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to Bellamy, wasn’t it?

That even though Raven might possibly know what Clarke did, she herself couldn’t say anything without providing evidence (of which she had none) and Bellamy would have no way of implicating Clarke. Raven, no matter how indirectly, had a hand in making sure Bellamy gulped down a concentrated dose of 8 cups of salt. How would Bellamy feel if and when he found out Raven was the unwitting co-conspirator in all of this? That Raven—his on-screen lover, his co-worker, and his friend—had unwittingly betrayed him.

The knowledge that Bellamy would feel _hurt_ by this entire plan—just as she felt slighted by him a year ago—was the source of the overwhelming feeling surging through her body now. She couldn’t help but revel in the certainty she felt, holding the tangible power in her hand. It was all too much. But she had to keep it contained, if only for Raven’s sake. Despite her hatred for the boy, she loved everyone else and she couldn't risk anything. She had to play it safe.So there she stood, staring straight into the brilliant green eyes of Raven Reyes, and denied all accusations thrown her way.

“Alright…” Raven said after a moment, her tone still slightly suspicious as she stared at Clarke. “If you say so.”

“Trust me Raven, if I ever prank him, I will rope you into it. We could prank him together.” Clarke crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes, feigning amused frustration at the way Raven was looking at her. “Weren’t you the one who told me he needs to be taken down a notch anyway?”

“That’s true. He’s such a douche.” Raven’s suspicious look turned jovial at the question and she threw her head back and laughed. “But salty coffee sounds like torture. What the fuck were the employees of Picasso’s thinking?”

“I got the stuff at like 4 in the morning. Can you blame them?” Clarke wrinkled her nose with distaste. “But yeah, salty coffee does sound awful.”

When Clarke got off work four hours later, she immediately texted Wells. Since they were taking all the necessary precautions, she couldn’t exactly give Wells a play-by-play of what had happened that day via text. But she was rest assured in the knowledge that her text was adequate enough to convey what she wanted to say.

**Clarke: 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Tell me your thoughts! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how actors get paid, so let's just assume Clarke gets paid per day she's on set.

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_Narcissa Black went rigid._

_The sparks that tingled on her skin at the touch told her there was a wand pressed against her neck and the wand holder was angry—extremely angry._

_“If you value your life,” hissed her attacker with the wand. “Step away.”_

_Clenching her jaw shut to keep herself from making any noise, she took a step back and then two. Her attacker followed behind her every step, silent but intimidating as he kept his wand on her. She could tell it was a student because their voice cracked when they spoke and the shadow he casted suggested he wasn’t very tall._

_Was it a Hogsmeade kid wandering about in the middle of the night or a Hogwarts student out of bed sneaking down to Hogsmeade? Did he know what he was doing? Did he know what was inside the Shrieking Shack right now, haunting the village of Hogsmeade with its shrieks and screams? It was so obvious… It was obvious and yet…_

_With the wand against her neck directing her, Narcissa slowly stepped away from the Shrieking Shack and into the wooded area behind it. The full moon, bright in its brilliance, lit her way. The smell of petrichor was heavy in the air and each step she took wet her shoes and water lashed against the back of her legs. Branches of varying sizes littered the ground in a blanket._

_As she walked, her eyes zeroed in on a broken tree branch the size of a small child and she clenched her fingers around the cherry wood wand at her side. The fool either forgot to check if she still had her wand or was too confident in his own skills to take on a second year like her. Either way, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to take away her wand. It was her life line._

_As soon as they entered the threshold between the Shrieking Shack and the forest behind it, Narcissa quietly muttered the levitation charm and aimed her hidden wand on the broken tree branch behind her. She could only hope that her casting was true and her aim was right so that the charm landed on the right tree branch. Tightening her grip on her wand, Narcissa waited for the tree branch to land on top of the boy’s head. But no thumping sound indicating the branch hitting flesh was made._

_Instead, someone else spoke._

_“You didn’t check for her wand?” Someone shouted angrily, their voice subdued but hushed to fit the darkness of the night._

_Her attacker let out a whimper and his wand hand wavered in its focus._

_“Sorry, Ja—”_

_Narcissa was no fool. She knew this was her one and only chance to take advantage of the distraction. So as soon as she could, she quickly pulled herself away from the boy’s grasp and whipped around to face her assailants. Her wand flourished forward at the ready, the tip sparking with the sheer anger and fear running through her body. But as soon as her eyes landed on the two assailants, her wand arm wavered._

_She had expected Hogsmeade boys out on a nightly stroll who didn’t know what they were getting into. She had expected two Hogwarts students who disobeyed orders and snuck out to Hogsmeade so they could play a game of ‘who is braver?’ in front of the infamous Shrieking Shack. But for some reason, her expectations never involved James Potter and Peter Pettigrew dressed in nondescript cloaks that were too large for their bodies. The angry almost menacing looks on their pale faces as they stared down at her with their wands at the ready would freeze any second year in their tracks._

_But not Narcissa._

_Not after that epiphany._

_“What are you doing here, Black?” Peter Pettigrew asked._

_“Pettigrew,” said Narcissa. She studied him for a moment, trying to remind herself all the details she knew about the Gryffindor boy. It wasn’t much, if she was being honest. Unlike his friends, Pettigrew was unremarkable in every way. “I didn’t know you could speak.”_

_Uncertain about the situation he found himself in, Peter’s eyes skittered over to his friend James and then back to her. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly interrupted._

_“Answer the question, Black.” James Potter commanded as he twisted his wrist holding his wand just so, suggesting he would not hesitate to attack if need be. “What are you doi—?”_

_“You’re asking me? Wat are **you** doing in Hogsmeade?” James threw her a look of alarm, eyebrows raised high to suggest his confusion and shock. “Don’t tell me yo—”_

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“Cut!”

Clarke Griffin snapped out of her role as Narcissa Black.

Why did the director stop the scene? As far as she could tell, the three of them were doing quite well considering they never strayed from their blocking spots and delivered their lines perfectly. When her eyes spotted the director, she inwardly winced at the pissed off look on the woman’s face as she made her way over to them. They were going to get yelled at and Clarke was not looking forward to it.

“Clarke Griffin,” hissed the director.

Clarke immediately tensed up at the mention of her name and took a step back as she came face to face with the director. 

“Yes, director.” She replied uncertainly.

“What did I say about improvising? Prompter!” Director Diyoza shouted, calling for one of the many prompters loitering about. Clarke’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “What was Clarke’s next line?”

The prompter, a young man in his mid-twenties by the name of Carl if Clarke remembered correctly, quickly rushed through his copy of the script to read off:

“ _James Potter barely gets a word in edgewise before Narcissa mutters: ‘Of course you know… How could you not? You’re James bleeding Potter.’”_

“What?” Clarke couldn’t help but ask in her confusion. It was her first time hearing such words and she was beyond confused as to why they thought it was her lines. Her script—the one she had re-read just 30 minutes ago—had said something different. She would have remembered something so emotional and powerful of a line. Was there a missing page that she failed to get a copy of? “Surely there’s been some kind of mistake, I—”

“Follow the script.” Director Diyoza stressed, her thoughts on the matter obvious with the glare she was sending Clarke. In the moonlight of the night, the director looked more menacing than any werewolf. At the very least, a werewolf would kill her immediately without thought. Diyoza, however… “I know your father was famous when he was alive, but you are nowhere near his level so don’t you even think about making up your own lin—”

“Director, plea—”

“Do not interrupt me when I’m talking to you! If we wanted you to create shit, then you would have been hired as a writer not as an actor. We don’t have time for your juvenile shenanigans. If you didn’t know your lines, then you should have asked me to give you a break. Don’t waste my time with your incompetence. If we have to drag this out into the next night, I _will_ be taking this out of your paycheck.”

“But dire—”  
The director raised a hand up in front of Clarke’s face, effectively shutting down her effort to explain what was going on.

“People!” Diyoza announced loudly, her voice echoing so that the rest of the cast and crew could hear her clearly. “We’re taking a 30-minute break so Griffin can learn her lines.”

With that said, Director Diyoza let out a huff of anger and retreated back to her spot by the cameras. As if time had just started once again, the crew moved about to get a snack, a bathroom break, and/or smoke break before the 10 minutes were up. Clarke stood there where the director left her, confused beyond her 14 years.

What just happened? What in the world had just happened? Diyoza was great and all, critically acclaimed to be sure, but she clearly did not have the communication skills to go with her title. Clarke could barely get a word in to explain the situation before the director snapped. She was working with children, for god’s sakes. Would it kill the director to let Clarke speak and _try_ to explain herself?

From the corner of her eye, she could see Jasper tentatively making his way over. He looked very unsure as to whether or not he should come forward, but the concern in his eyes was clear and Clarke’s heart swelled at his consideration. Even though he often acted as the rambunctious one in public interviews, Jasper Jordan was actually quite the considerate attentive boy. Sure, they didn’t have a lot of scenes together, but Jasper always made an effort to seek her out so they could laugh at silly cat memes together. Each time she spoke to him, she felt all her worries disappearing.

His co-star, on the other hand…

Clarke pitied all of Bellamy Blake’s fans because they were going to be super disappointed when they meet him in real life. It’s sad to even think about. While Bellamy exuded a charming charismatic personality on screen, it wouldn’t translate well because he’s honestly quite a douche in person. A brief glance behind Jasper and she could see Bellamy with his hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly confused and a bit disturbed as he followed Jasper. Of course, he would be here when she’s getting in trouble for something she had no control over. She would bet $100 he was secretly enjoying this.

“I swear to you, I tried to memorize my lines.” Clarke explained feebly when she caught Carl the prompter staring at her. 

“Here.” Carl said with a chuckle. The look on his face was full of pity and understanding as he handed Clarke an extra copy of the script flipped to the right scene. “30 minutes isn’t a lot, so take this and study as much as you can. I’ll help you with the rest, okay?”

“Thank you so much, Carl.” Clarke pressed the script to her chest and nodded to the young man. “I owe you one.”

Carl suddenly froze where he stood.

“You… You remember my name.”

The surprised tone of voice made Clarke pause, unsure of why the prompter made it sound so unprecedented.

“Of course, I remember you. You always get the pear cream puffs whenever I bring desserts from Picasso’s. Right?”

“That’s right! I’m just surprised you remember my name, that’s all.”

“I try.” Clarke laughed. “Thanks for the script, I’ll go read it right now. Let us hope Diyoza doesn’t kill me today.”

“Oh don’t you worry, Diyoza is a softie.”

Clarke made a doubtful face at the claim, causing Carl to laugh loudly before he bid farewell and made his way off set. No doubt to grab some donut that can barely hold a light to Picasso’s Riesling poached pear cream puffs. Those were to die for.

She turned her attention to the script in her hand, hoping to find the answers she was looking for. It didn’t make sense that out of all the actors and extras in this production, she got the only wrong copy. Surely there was a printing error or something. But the more she read, the more confused she became and her hands trembled with her growing anxiety.

In the script Carl gave her, Narcissa got into a shouting match with Peter in his efforts to keep her quiet about Remus’s secret. But in the revised script she received just two days ago, Narcissa said some very harsh words with both James and Peter. With the change in dialogue, the scene transformed into something completely different. Instead of hiding behind James like he usually does, this scene showcased Peter’s strength and how he held his own against Narcissa. Clarke’s face grew hot and her heart started beating loudly against her chest, the anxiety washing over her in waves. She’s never read this version of the script in her life.

“Clarke, are you okay?” Jasper asked.

“I—” Clarke started, but she found herself unable to finish.

Fuck, what was she going to do? She couldn’t possibly remember all of this in 30 minutes and she definitely couldn’t deliver her lines the way it was intended. She got the wrong fucking script! But Diyoza wouldn’t understand. Clarke glanced at Diyoza who was calmly drinking her coffee and then back at the script in her hand. Her vision went hazy, clouded by anxiety and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Shit, she fucked up. Again. Shit, shit, shit. Why was she so worthle—

“Clarke!” Jasper’s voice called out, snapping her out of her own mind and back to the present once again by shaking her shoulders. “Clarke, calm down for me. You have to breathe. In. Out. Listen to me!” Unable to do anything else, Clarke followed Jasper’s direction and calmed her breathing as much as she could. Once she got it under control, Jasper asked: “Are you okay? You need anything? What’s going on?”

“I-I honestly don’t know.” Clarke confessed to Jasper. If she wasn’t holding on to the script like it was her life line, she would be covering her face in shame and embarrassment. “Ever since we got the new script, I’ve been cramming it like crazy. But apparently the one I have is different than yours and I—”

“Why the hell did you memorize _that_ script?” Bellamy shouted out suddenly.

Clarke was about to snap at her arch-nemesis that it was none of his business, but the utter confusion in Bellamy’s voice combined with the concerned ‘what the hell?’ look on his face gave her pause. She took a moment and watched him. Why in the world was Bellamy Blake concerned that she memorized the wrong script? If anything, he should be reveling in her mistake. After all, he was getting an opportunity to watch Diyoza yell at her for being incompetent.

And yet…

And yet, Bellamy Blake looked concerned for her.

It was completely out of character for him.

Clarke took a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, trying desperately to control all the thoughts running through her mind. No, it couldn’t be... As someone who constantly juggled several jobs at once, he would understand how important this was to her. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to mess with her job—not like this. But then she looked at Bellamy’s face, at the regret in his dark brown eyes, at the nervous uncertain way he stood, and she knew.

Of course, it was him.

Clarke should have seen it coming.

Even though he had no evidence for the alleged crime, Clarke should have known Bellamy was dead set on exacting his revenge for the salted coffee incident. She should have watched her back. But between her busy schedule as the new face of Marc Jacob’s Daisy Love perfume line, her first voice acting role in the animated film _Anchor_ , and her permanent guest star role as Narcissa Black in _The Marauders_ , the salted coffee incident completely slipped her mind.

Bellamy Blake had completely slipped her mind.

Until now.

“Oh Bellamy,” whispered Jasper.

The reprimand in Jasper’s voice was clear and Bellamy’s face wrinkled in shame.

“Tell me you didn’t,” pleaded Clarke in a desperate attempt to rationalize what was happening.

“Why the hell did you memorize it?” Bellamy asked instead of answering, looking confounded that she had the gall to memorize the script that was given to her. “You were supposed to look at it and just—I don’t know—toss it to the side or something. Why wo—"

“How the _fuck_ was I supposed to know?” Clarke shouted back, exasperated at the sheer audacity of the boy. “I got a script an—”

“I _gave_ it to you, Clarke! That should have been your first clue.”

“Excuse me for thinking you wouldn’t mess with my job! Oh my god, you’re such a fucking asshole Bellamy!”

“Oh, like you’re any better. You put salt in my coffee, princess!”

“You deserved it!”

“You deser—”

Before Bellamy could say anything more insulting, Clarke pulled him forward by the fabrics of his shirt and looked straight into his eyes. For a moment, she searched for any inkling of remorse in his eyes or something that would suggest he regretted his decision. She wanted to know if he understood the ramifications of what he had done. But all she saw was an exasperated unjustifiable anger and it sparked a thought in Clarke’s mind that was too unkind.

“Say it,” warned Clarke. Her grip on his shirt tightened and she bared her teeth at him. “You finish that sentence and I will finish your god damn career Bellamy Blake, so god help me.”

“Princess look, I didn—” Bellamy started to say, but whatever else he wanted to say was interrupted by Jasper.

“Clarke, please.”

Jasper put a hand on Clarke’s arm and she flinched, pulling herself away from the both of them. Her eyes spotted the script she had dropped on the floor and she bent down to pick it up. She could feel the eyes of her co-stars watching her and her face burned with anger and shame for lashing out. All she wanted to do was go somewhere and scream her head off. She wanted to lash out at someone or something. She wanted to slam her hands on any solid surface she could reach. But she still had to face the dragon that was Diyoza before her journey ended.

Fuck, how much time has passed?

“Clarke,” called Jasper. She turned to look at him, her breathe coming out ragged like she’s been running a mile down a hill. She raised an eyebrow at Jasper, not trusting herself to say anything because her throat had tightened up. “Come on, I’ll read lines with you.”

The offer was so unexpectedly Jasper that Clarke couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief and nodded her head. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ears, flushing when she realized she was shaking pathetically. Everything was suddenly so overwhelming; she couldn’t even begin to explain why. If Jasper noticed her shaking, he said nothing. All he did was offer his hand and she flashed him a weak smile before she accepted, letting him lead her to the corner of the room to practice their lines together.

Jasper’s firm grip was warm and comforting.

It was the way his gesture made her feel that she was able to make it through the filming session. The amount of times Diyoza angrily yelled ‘cut!’ did not compare to the amount of times she cursed Bellamy out in her mind. In between filming, Bellamy repeatedly tried to offset Diyoza’s anger, but the director wasn’t having any of it. If his actions were meant to make her feel sympathetic to him or make her think he was apologetic, he was wrong. His actions only made her even angrier.

But she trudged through quietly, enduring all the insults, angry reprimands, and glares thrown her way. In the end, they had to cut filming short because Clarke was leading them nowhere. Theoretically, she could call out ‘line!’ as much as she wanted but the pacing had already been destroyed. Diyoza personally expressed her disappointment in Clarke, going so far as to tell her this month’s paycheck was going to be smaller than usual. Clarke took it without a word.

When Diyoza dismissed the team, Clarke immediately changed out of her Narcissa Black costume into her own clothes and made a beeline for Anya’s car. Since she wasn’t part of the main cast, she didn’t have a trailer to retreat to so she desperately hoped that Ana was there waiting for her. Never mind the fact that she would be there 3 hours earlier than scheduled.

Her hopes, however, were dashed as soon as she made the turn into the underground parking lot. Even from this distance, she could see that Anya’s bright Tiffany blue car was nowhere in sight. Her heart sank with trepidation. She couldn’t blame Anya though. Who would ever thought filming would be delayed because of some idiot’s idea of a prank? Certainly not Anya and certainly not Clarke.

Clarke was going to kill him.

She was going to fucking kill him if it’s the last thing she does. He costed her time and money. Not just her, but the entire production team as well. Because of him, they had to delay filming for another day and now the whole schedule was off. Now she had to go home and re-study her lines on top of studying for her final exam tomorrow. Sure, she halfheartedly admired him for his initiative of taking revenge, but there was nothing admirable about wasting everyone’s time. At least her salted coffee didn’t harm anyone else!

Yet the more Clarke thought about it, the angrier she became with herself. How could she have fallen for it? She should have known something was up when he handed her the ill-revised script. But she’s been busy with other side jobs, her schooling, and dealing with her mom that she completely forgot about their feud.

At the time, she had just woken up from a nap that left her more tired than before the nap and she was trying her best to rehearse her lines under her breathe before Director Diyoza came back from her smoke break. The revised script he handed her was just another thing in her pile of things to do and so Clarke took it without question. Not suspecting anything, she even told Bellamy ‘thanks’. Fuck, why was she so fucking stupid? She should have been more on guard!

Clarke groaned in utter embarrassment, brushing her fingers through her hair in an effort to control some inkling of her sanity. But then as she pulled her hands away, she found herself shaking again. Her fingers were trembling in a way she could barely command and the sign of her own weakness broke whatever self-control she had over herself. Clarke turned to the nearest wall post and threw her tightly clenched fists against the cement block, letting out a scream of frustration mixed with anger, indignation, and utter revulsion.

“Fuck! Fuck! _Fuck_!”

Clarke knew she should feel pain. She knew she should feel the pain of her knuckles hitting the rough surface of the wall and she should definitely feel the heated burn of her skin pulling, but…

Clarke felt nothing.

She felt nothing except the overwhelming sense of inadequacy. She was inadequate and there was nothing she could do to fix it. She couldn’t fix herself! Clarke screamed again and again, a series of stifled screams that made no sound because her inadequacy needed no further introduction. It was just there just like she was there, a useless piece of shit pretending to be something better than she really was.

Suddenly, she found her outstretched arm being violently pulled back from its imminent crash into the wall. Her vision, made blurry from the tears she didn’t realize were flowing down her face, could make out the Gryffindor colors of someone’s robes. She immediately tensed up. She knew who was there and a quick blink to get rid of her tears confirmed it.

Bellamy Blake stood in front of her, his hand still grasping her wrist tightly as his eyes looked down at her with alarmed concern. The anger that had been extinguished by her abuse of the wall flared again at the sight of him and a wave of disgust and nausea went through her. She quickly tugged her arm out of his grasp, only to pull it back to slap him right across the face. The sound echoed in the empty parking lot. His cheek reddened from the force, but he only stared at her without saying a word.

“You rotten degenerate coward of a boy!” Clarke shouted on top of her lungs. “What the fuck is wrong with you! Why didn’t you say something? How co—”

“Clarke, plea—”

“—uld you do this to me? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Clarke’s voice cracked with the tension and the new evidence of _more_ loss of control only made her want to scream her head off some more. But the bane of her existence was standing in front of her and she could not show weakness no matter how weak she truly was. She could not show her weakness. Not to him. Taking a deep breath to calm her strained nerves, Clarke quickly brushed the stray tears from her eyes and returned her focus to her arch-nemesis.

“What do you want, Bellamy?” Clarke asked, suddenly exhausted. She was exhausted with her own façade of calmness and well past the point of annoyance with the boy in front of her. How dare he speak to her after what he did. Sure she put salt in his coffee, but his suffering was only for a mere moment. Now due to his ‘prank’, she’ll suffer from the ire of the studio workers and God knows what! Her eyes bore a hole into his head, hoping it’ll burst into flames so she didn’t have to suffer his presence any longer. She had better things to do. “What do you _want_ , you abhorrent li—”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Bellamy.

The apology was so faint, Clarke almost didn’t hear it. But then it registered in her head and she let out a laugh that sounded like a mix of mock scoffing and utter joy. He was sorry? Bellamy Blake was fucking sorry? What the fuck was that half-assed bullshit apology? Looking decidedly uncomfortable with his hands shoved in his pockets, Bellamy’s eyes flickered everywhere and anywhere except her. As if she was something that he felt uncomfortable staring at.

For someone who’s been annoying the shit out of her for as long as she can remember, he certainly kept his mouth shut the moment she paid him any attention. He just stared at her, mouth agape like a fish desperate for air. God, why did fans even like him? He was such an awkward vindictive douche canoe.

When it was clear the boy in front of her wasn’t going to say anything else, Clarke turned and made her way out of this parking lot. But she didn’t get to take more than two steps before Bellamy lurched forward and grabbed her forearm, pulling her back. She made an indignant angry noise, jerked her trapped arm free, and took a few steps back until her knees brushed against the grill of one of the cars nearby. Clarke promptly sat down on the hood of the car, taking a few calming breathes to try and calm her already frayed nerves.

“Sorry,” murmured her arch-nemesis. “I’m sorry. I mean— _shit_ —I keep saying that an—”

Clarke barked out a laugh, suddenly very amused. There she was with dried tears on her cheeks, scraped knuckles, and a welcoming apathy dulling her senses and Bellamy was fumbling with his words like an awkward pre-pubescent boy. The whole thing was just so amusing she almost thought she was crazy. How else can one explain the hurricane of emotions running through her? First, she was angry to the point of hurting herself and now she could barely control her amusement. Bellamy’s awkwardness wasn’t even funny no matter how you look at it. She should be furious with him, but after all the array of emotions she had gone through today, she needed a good laugh. 

“You know for an entertainer,” started Clarke. “You’re pretty bad with words.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Clarke.” Bellamy paused to look at her for a second, his expression clouded. “I’m trying to apologize.”

“You’ve been interrupting me ever since I met you so don’t give me that shit. Not to mention, I didn’t hear any apology so…” She quirked her head to the side, suggesting her impatience with exaggerated widened eyes. “Chop, chop.”

“Do you always have to be so bitchy about _everything_?”

“Do _you_ have to be so defensive about everything?”

“Clarke!”

“What!”

“I’m sorry!” The second apology came out as something rather sudden, spoken out of uncontrolled emotion rather than a planned statement. Compared to the last apology, this one was so loud Clarke flinched. She watched him fumble over his words again. “I shouldn’t have done that; I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. I was so stupid—”

“On that, we can agree.”

The contrite look on Bellamy’s face gave way to exasperation and he glared at her.

“Do you want me to apologize or not?”

“I don’t want your apology if you don’t mean it! Why are you even apologizing? You don’t sound sorry and I sure as hell don’t believe you, especially after that stunt you pulled.”

“I _am_ sorry, that’s why I’m trying to talk to you right now! But fuck princess, you don’t make that easy.” Bellamy exclaimed. He hastily brushed his fingers through his hair again, pulling at it like that would ease his frustration and turned back to her. His eyes searched hers, looking for something, and then he let out a sigh of resignation. Bellamy’s voice was soft and controlled as he spoke. “Why are we like this, Clarke? I… How did we get like this?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Clarke couldn’t help it, she let out a laugh at the ridiculous question. Bellamy threw her a glance she didn’t recognize, kept his mouth shut, and then began pacing. Unlike Clarke in her jeans and t-shirt, he was still in his James Potter costume and the dark cloak he had on swiveled each time he turned. His styled hair was now in such disarray that he channeled Harry Potter in the third movie, sticking up this way and that. On his third round of pacing, Bellamy suddenly stopped short and made his way to the parked car next to hers. He sat his butt down on the hood and turned his body to face her, his eyes striking in its intensity. Clarke remained where she was, unable to look away.

“I don’t know if you know this,” started Bellamy. “But I made it my mission to seek you out at the YAA ceremony. I don’t usually watch dark fantasy, but when the team got nominated, I watched all the films that were nominated too and yours was one of them. Honestly, I didn’t expect much from _Arabesque_. It looked like a typical coming-of-age teen romance with a sprinkle of horror comedy. But then I watched it and I thought your performance was inspirational.” Bellamy smiled softly as he reminisced and Clarke felt an uneasy sort of flutter in her stomach at the look in his eyes. “The way you captured Camila’s struggles with herself and the way you delivered that final scene? It was incredibly heart-wrenching to watch and you delivered it so perfectly. You were what? 12 years old?”

“13 and a ½,” corrected Clarke automatically. 

“I had this whole thing planned out. I was going to find out if you were coming, I was going to wait until you got at least some food in before I introduce myself, and then we were going to talk about acting. What techniques did you use? How involved was the director in your characterization because I heard he was shit? How involved were you? Like I said, I had a whole thing. But then, nothing went as I expected. The gang came with me, they started going crazy, and before I knew what was happening, you slapped me in the face.” 

“I’m sorry, did you just fucking say you don’t know why you got slapped? Allow me to refresh your memories. You _ridiculed_ me in front of your friends—people I just met, Bellamy! I don’t care that you admired my work because none of that shit matter. You insulted me!” Clarke pushed herself off the car she was sitting on, stepped towards his car, and pressed a finger into Bellamy’s chest, emphasizing each ‘you’ of her statement with a jab to his chest. Bellamy took it, barely flinching as her fingers dug into his skin. “Saying all that shit now doesn’t change the fact that _you_ scoffed at my accomplishments, _you_ belittled my capabilities, and _you_ made me feel less than on a day where I should have been celebrating. All because of what? Your jealousy? What the fuck, you asshole!”

She jabbed Bellamy’s chest one more time for good measure and angrily plopped down right beside him, knocking his shoulder with hers not so gently. He grumbled a little, but shifted slight to make more room for her.

“I know. I _was_ jealous and insecure, so I to—”

“Don’t fool yourself Bellamy, you’re _still_ jealous and insecure.”

“I… don’t deny it.” He agreed in solemn reluctance, jaw clenched as if the confession hurt him. “Can you blame me? I mean, you were 12—”

“13 and a ½!”

Bellamy threw her a withering look.

“Fine, you were 13 and a ½ and you were getting nominated left and right while I was barely making it by. Of course, you fucking got an award on your first movie. You had all the opportunities at your fingertips that I could only _wish_ for.” At this point in his confession, Bellamy let out a sigh of exhaustion and ran his hands over his face tiredly. “But it was wrong of me to blame you for something you had no control over, I know that now. I wanted to apologize right away, but then Anya came by and you left immediately after the ceremony. Not to mention, you’re not an easy person to get in contact with.”

Clarke couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the excuse he gave her.

“What, no ‘I’ll have my people contact your people’ shit where you live?”

He flashed her a wrinkled displeased look.

“You curse a lot for someone so young.”

“You say that a lot for someone only two years older than me.”

A silence fell between the two of them, palpable in its awkwardness but also slightly comfortable in its entirety.

It’s been almost a year since they first met and Clarke had a lot of time to think about why Bellamy Blake acted the way he did that night. At first, she thought he was just an arrogant boy that let fame get to him too quickly in the game. Then, she suspected jealousy of some kind but it was hard to know for sure until now. After all, how could she differentiate Bellamy the Jealous and Bellamy the Douchebag when she only ever saw one side of him?

Clarke’s inner thoughts were interrupted by a text message tone from her phone. She fished the offending object out of her jeans and read the text Anya sent her. ‘ _Heard from DD. Will be there in 5 minutes._ ’ said the text. It was a simple curt text message fitting Anya’s personality, but Clarke inwardly cringed at the words. Explaining what the hell happened was a conversation she did not look forward to having when Anya picked her up. Just the mere thought of it made her let out a groan of frustration.

“I’m really sorry about the prank.” Bellamy said after a moment. “I didn’t think you’d actually—you know what, never mind. I’m just really sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke put her phone away and turned to look at Bellamy as he nervously ran his fingers through his hair again. Somehow, despite their bad blood, she actually believed him. She believed that he truly was sorry for what he had done. At the very least, he was sincerely sorry about tricking her with the revised script. The Bellamy Blake she often interacted with definitely didn’t say sorry most of the time, so the fact that he apologized to her almost immediately after filming worked in his favor.

However, the fact remained that he never owed up to his mistake or corrected Diyoza when the director assumed wrong. So… he was still her arch-nemesis. Then again, Clarke’s earlier conversation with the director already made it clear that Diyoza didn’t actually give a shit about _how_ something happened so what was she really expecting from Bellamy?

All this thinking was giving her a headache and Clarke rubbed her temples, wincing when her knuckles burned from the bending of her fingers. She set her hands on her lap and closely inspected the damage of her loss of control. Bits and pieces of scraped skin dangled by a thin thread here and there, exposing the pinkish red flesh underneath. No blood was drawn, but the whole thing looked grotesque against the background of her perfectly manicured hands.

“You should get that checked out.” Bellamy said, reminding her that she was sitting next to her arch-nemesis and they haven’t exchanged a snarky comment in a while. He glanced down at her scraped knuckles and looked like he was going to say something more, but she quickly shut it down.

“That’s none of your concern,” commented Clarke with a scoff. She crossed her arms and hid her knuckles from view. “You should worry about how I’m going to kill you after I get my near-zero paycheck next week.”

“Tell me how much they take out and I’ll make it up to you.”

Bellamy’s words about his struggles to help his mother make ends meet echoed in her head. She wondered briefly if he had planned this whole conversation in its entirety. Was this a test of some sort? On the one hand if she took him up on his offer, it meant she had no qualms about taking advantage of the clearly established struggling Blake family. But on the other hand, if she did not take up on his offer, then it would indicate she was a sucker for sob stories and could be taken advantage of later on. None of the options were favorable, in her opinion.

Luckily for Clarke, the conversation came to a halt when a Tiffany blue Toyota Camry rushed into the parking lot and squealed to a stop right in front of them. Anya rolled down her driver side window and nodded her head to Clarke, an eyebrow quirked above her overly large aviator sunglasses. If the woman had any questions on why her charge was sitting so close to her arch-nemesis, she did not ask. Her fingers quickly tapping the steering wheel indicated her impatience.

Without looking at Bellamy, Clarke jumped off the hood of the car, checked to make sure she got all her things, and made her way to Anya. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep. She really needed it after this emotional roller coaster of a day. As she circled to the front passenger side door, Clarke found herself pausing for a moment unable to leave. She turned and glanced back at her arch-nemesis, itching to say something but not knowing what.

The boy was where she left him, looking a little forlorn sitting there on the hood of the car. His eyes were downcast and his fingers intertwined with each other on his lap, fidgeting nervously like its owner. Then, as if feeling her gaze on him, he looked up and their eyes met. The look on his face gave her the answer as to what she should say.

“No more changing my script, you got it?” Clarke called out.

Bellamy barked out a laugh and enthusiastically nodded his head in agreement.

“As long as you don’t put more salt in my coffee.”

“No promises,” shrugged Clarke.

“Okay, fair. I would deserve it.”

“Yup.”

There was a second’s pause during which Bellamy looked like he wanted to say something more, but then his shoulders deflated and he flashed her a kind but forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Clarke wanted to know what that look was all about, she really did. However, they already reached the natural end to the conversation and she definitely wasn’t about to start it up again. Especially after having the last word. She threw him a brief nod and got into Anya’s car, never looking back at her arch-nemesis as Anya drove away.

Wells would be proud to know that she was already planning her second prank on the drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. Everyone stay safe out there. Until next time!


End file.
